


The Quite Impossible

by NuMo



Series: Curtains And Masks [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuMo/pseuds/NuMo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We could use a talented counselor aboard Voyager, you know.” As soon as she says them, Kathryn knows those words are a mistake.</p><p>“What?!” Marie snatches her hand back as if burned.</p><p>“I am sorry, Marie. I was wrong to presume you’d want to…” </p><p>“Want to? Good heavens, Kathryn, I’ve dreamed about being on a starship ever since I read my first science fiction novel, and seeing Earth from space is one of my most cherished dreams. It’s not that I don’t <i>want</i> to, don’t you realize?”</p><hr/><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/372042">"The Right Irreverent"</a> of the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/18811">"Curtains and Masks"</a> Series. I strongly suggest you read that one first. </p><p>I don't own Star Trek nor anything connected with it, but I do own my own characters. I'm not making any profit, although I hope to reap some feedback.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. somewhere between February 12th and 13th

_Loneliness is the human condition. Never expect to outgrow loneliness. Don’t attach yourself to anyone who shows you the least bit of attention because you’re lonely. Never hope to find people who will understand you, someone to fill that space. An intelligent, sensitive person is the exception, the very great exception. If you expect to find people who understand you, you will grow murderous with disappointment._

* * *

I have no idea what she’s thinking. Captain Kathryn never, _ever_ talks. Yes, she says things around the day, but that’s not what I mean. And yes, her actions speak for themselves, as she pursues our physical awakening to each other with her usual single-mindedness and every sign of enjoyment. But we haven’t exchanged a single word on how this might affect her, me. Us. I don’t even know whether there is any ‘us’ to be affected, yet, whether there can be at all. I’ve tried, but she deflected, diverted, distracted me, with a cunning that comes from captaining a starship through hostile space millions of lightyears from home, I expect, and I let her, for now.

One thing is certain: we’re comfortable around each other. Just the other day, in fact, when I came home from work, she was in front of my private computer, researching something on the internet, and not for the first time, either. There’s nothing she isn’t interested in – food, media, state-of-the-art science, politics, history.

“These riots in London, the Occupy Movement – things are coming to a head, economy-wise, aren’t they?” she’d asked me, worry in her eyes.

“Hey, you tell me. You’re from the future. A future without money, no less, and I still don’t understand how _that_ works.”

“But we already established that your future isn’t my past. I’m just as clueless as you are.”

I looked at her with doubt in my eyes. “Well, something must have happened in your timeline – greed is universal, after all. Basic human nature. I can’t believe it’ll just vanish, you know. There must have been a catalyst, a transition, something cataclysmic, probably.” 

She wouldn’t answer my fishing, and I understood immediately – there’s no telling how close the two timelines still are, after all, and we were talking about the imminent future, not the twenty-fourth century. Maybe these riots, movements, tendencies are indeed leading towards something cataclysmic. Maybe they’ll coincide with other things – climate changes of a more radical nature than we’ve experienced so far, for example – and then things will really start to fizz. Or maybe it’ll all die down in a few years, as things usually do, and the powers that be will continue as before. Still, I’m amazed about the things that amaze her; seeing them through her eyes puts a new perspective on them, a fresh twist, and makes me see how remarkable, irritating or sometimes plain stupid they are. 

Other days, I catch her with a book in her hands; she’s diving into my – mostly English – bookshelf with captivating enthusiasm, and without ever asking for a recommendation, too, preferring her own judgment. I like both things about her – I like people to form their own opinion even if it means refusing mine, and I don’t think I could bear living with someone not interested in books. Not that we’re living with each other – or are we? In any case, she started to borrow my books long before we started sharing other things, and I cherish the sight of her on my sofa, legs curled up underneath the comforter, hot water bottle and a cup of coffee at the ready; she freezes rather more easily than I do. 

From the beginning, even, we’ve developed a sort of routine, as much as we can with my crazy hours. I do try to be home for dinner, or at least an hour of lunch when I know I’ll be working too late for dinner, and I’m meticulous about texting her whenever that happens. I cook, though. She tried to make dinner several times, and failed spectacularly every single time; one evening, my upstairs neighbor caught me in the hall and begged me to be more careful with the spices – and my eyes burned, too, when I opened the door. After that, she was happy to concede kitchen command to me, and content to contribute what she can – shopping for groceries when I can’t, chopping, washing up.

The sofa is definitely our favorite piece of furniture. After dinner, we retreat to it, to talk, to read, to even watch TV – one night I switched to a football game and started to comment it passionately (in German. My vocabulary does have some gaps), and she kept looking at me over the top of her current novel, and her eyes laughed and laughed. Sometimes – well, a lot of times, really – we do other things, too, although we mostly end up in bed for those; more spacious. And sometimes, afterwards, she disentangles herself from my arms, with great and completely futile care not to wake me. The sofa is her destination, then, and I never ask her if she reads, or works, or just sits and thinks, although I did wonder when I heard a pencil scribbling away, once. I never asked about that, either, though. 

Obsessed with talking things out as I’ve been, I find I can live with her leaving, her silence, comfortably enough, because I don’t feel excluded. She always leaves the door open, and if I’d lie differently on the bed, I could see her, but I don’t need to, for some reason. Somehow, it’s enough to know she’s there, and comfortable, even if I know she does it because she’s too wide awake and won’t fall asleep until much, much later, or sometimes not at all. I found her one morning, deeply asleep, head on an outflung arm, book tented on her chest, the low winter sun kissing molten highlights onto her sleep-flushed face and tousled hair. I stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, then went to get my camera – I couldn’t help myself, and she slept right through it. 

I also caught her watching me, twice. The first time I was cooking, dancing about in the kitchen to the radio’s music. I was preparing something I was reasonably sure she’d like – really, it’s exasperating how she’ll eat without noticing what’s on the plate – and singing along contently, everything ticking into place and turning out the way I wanted it. I was bumping a drawer shut with a swing of my hips, and then, cheese grater in one hand, cheese in the other, I whirled in time with the music, and in time to see her standing in the kitchen doorway, a soft little smile on her lips that literally took my breath away. She quickly stepped around me to fetch cutlery to set the table, and did not comment, not on my dropping jaw nor on the way my singing ended on a squawk. She did compliment me profusely on the dish later on, though.

The second time has occurred about an hour ago; I’d been sliding in and out of sleep, completely entangled in her nearness, her touch light on my hair, my shoulders, my back. I’ve never been able to fall asleep while touching someone before, never, and I’d told her, that first night we spent in one bed, so that she would know why I turned away. And yet here I was, happy to go to sleep in her arms. I’d blinked, then, and caught sight of her eyes, full of… well. Of the same things, I guess, that crowd my eyes, my mind, my tongue. I took that look into my sleep, and when I woke again, her shorter body wrapped around mine, her nose along my cheekbone, her breath lightly on my jaw, I knew I was in love, and in trouble. And now I’m pondering. Part of me marvels how she falls asleep either not at all or straight away, which in itself is quite remarkable, considering her coffee input. But the bigger part of me stares at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all.

Kathryn’s not from here. So unbelievably, immensely not from here that there are times when the mere thought of it stops me cold. And she wants to get back, and I understand completely; hell, I’ve helped her, with what little I could do. Still. I don’t want to imagine how empty I’ll feel with her gone, when I’ve barely begun to enjoy how happy I feel with her here. Pushing that thought aside is easy. The question of how this will affect our interaction with the people around us, however, is one that needs to be addressed, and soon. What does she want to tell my friends? We’ve already made excuses for last Friday’s dinner date, and that still doesn’t sit right with me, even though I hadn’t really argued, and loved how we spent the night instead. Does she want to hide this? The girls have accepted her as a friend of mine, they’ll accept her as my girlfriend – but is she? I sigh and move my upper body slightly, and her small hand, heavy with drowsiness, touches my face. 

“Sleep.” It’s more murmur than instruction, and I would love to, but her voice sets me on another course of thought. I’ve heard what I call her ‘command voice’, all harsh and clipped and gravelly, and her ‘friendly voice’, so similar to the local accent in its melodiousness and the laughter hidden in it. But on this one word, her voice is soft and mellow as I’ve never heard it, and it resonates through her chest into mine and raises goose bumps on the way. 

This is more than just sex to me, and by that look I saw in her eyes, it’s more than that to her, but how much more can it be, when all she’s doing is to wait, hope, look for a way home? The sheer enormity of the fact wells up in me again, as it constantly does if I don’t watch my thoughts. Sometimes I think if she’d met anyone but me, she’d be institutionalized by now, but I, yes and heavens help me, I believe her. How can I not, when her combadge can raise my smartphone since she re-programmed it, when her tricorder can tell what kind of yoghurt I’m having, right through the kitchen wall.

She might be gone tomorrow, or she might be stuck here forever, and yes, there is a small, treacherous part in me that hopes it will be the latter, just to hear that voice every night, just to keep falling asleep with her arms around me, just to see her eyes laughing at me over the top of a book. I close my eyes and try to let her calm, steady breaths fill my head with peace instead of worries.


	2. February 13th

Kathryn wakes to an empty bed, and a note on the big table, wedged beneath a vacuum mug full of piping hot coffee.

> Kathryn – sorry to slip out on you, but I couldn’t find it in me to wake you, even though thinking of how helpless you are before your first cup rouses a not-so-gallant impulse or two. *shark’sgrin* I’ve come to love the smell of coffee, did you know that? M

Kathryn figures the asterisked words are some form of parenthesis, and she knows exactly the kind of face Marie’s referring to, and laughs at herself when it has her blushing to the tips of her ears. The note is written on the back of a printed picture, and, turning it over, Kathryn can easily identify herself, even if it makes her uneasy when she realizes she never noticed Marie take that picture, and there's a close feeling in her throat when she wonders how long Marie might have stood there, watching her. 

The picture is perfect, aside from the fact that Kathryn’s rarely comfortable with pictures of herself. The softness of the light on her face, its colors all golden, auburn and red, is offset by the coarse grey fabric of the sofa; the slight fuzziness reinforces the subject of sleep – Kathryn wouldn’t have thought that Marie’s such a good photographer. Then again, she doesn’t know much about Marie, and then again, again, she knows such a lot. She remembers when, as a cadet, she’d been flustered when Boothby had brought her flowers and, seemingly out of thin air, knew which color roses she liked best. And she remembers the groundkeeper’s then-mysterious answer of ‘as you watch, so you’re watched’, and how the meaning of his words hadn’t dawned until much later. Taking a sip of her coffee around a reminiscent smile, Kathryn continues to go through what she knows while heading for the shower. 

Marie, at thirty-two, is nine years Kathryn’s junior, and sometimes it feels even more than that when Kathryn thinks of how much more serious she was at that age, captaincy and two commands under her belt, and the memory of how one of said commands resulted in the death of a crewmember’s unborn child etched ineradicably into her soul. And yet, there’s a thoughtfulness and sense of responsibility in Marie that easily matches Kathryn’s. But then Marie’s a social worker, though where and in what function, Kathryn still doesn’t know; she’s stopped asking when her questions have only received evasive replies. All she knows is that Marie bikes to work, and has very irregular hours, and the possibility to work from home. Every time she does, she takes great care to ensure complete privacy, and Kathryn honors that meticulously. 

And finally, Marie’s a great cook, loves to eat in company, and has put her foot down, quite firmly and from the beginning, on bringing work to the dinner table; quite difficult to achieve since that’s the place where Kathryn keeps most of it because there really isn’t any other space available, but Kathryn keeps her eyes away from it and on her dinner companion and manages, somehow. And yes, a regular and tasty dinner in Marie’s company is something Kathryn can easily appreciate, even if it does make her miss the dinners she shared with Chakotay; and yes, part of her was sorry to cancel their dinner date with the ‘girls’ this week, even though that’s probably saved her from answering questions she can’t even answer to herself at the moment. 

Yes, Kathryn is stranded here, the thought returns as she towels herself off, and good heavens yes, she has bonded with Marie, even though she’d been determined to stay apart, to watch and listen and learn until a way home could be found. Then Q’s visit put a coil spanner in that plan, and still Kathryn vowed not to get too familiar with this place, and still, little by little and with brooking no argument, Marie has drawn her into… what? 

Sex, that’s a definitive yes. As she did days before, Kathryn meets her own eyes in the mirror, smiling. Mutual attraction – of course, otherwise sex wouldn’t be an option. But after that, definitions fail Kathryn, and it irks the scientist’s part of her mind. This is unlike anything she’s ever felt for Justin, or Mark, and she was engaged to both of them. This is unlike anything she’s ever felt for another woman, too. She’s exasperated with Marie about as often as she feels drawn to her, though lately the scales have begun to tip towards the latter more and more. And yet, to give an ever-recurring memory as an example, Kathryn still doesn’t know, after four days of thinking, whether to be embarrassed, grateful, or bloody furious that Marie had been observant enough to know exactly when to set Kathryn off, insightful enough to know exactly how, and irreverent enough to go through with that stunt, besides.

Marie can be charming, even winning, Kathryn has to give her that, and she’s quick, and fearlessly sincere. Cheeky, too – if she calls Kathryn ‘Captain’, it’s invariably followed by either ‘Kathryn’ or, more peevishly, ‘Coffee Bean’, to poke fun at Kathryn for giving orders again. Well, Kathryn is no captain here, she’s willing to concede that much; God, she hasn’t worn her uniform in weeks, but sometimes she’s frightened by how… close to Marie she feels. Captains need their distance, don’t they? She’ll need her distance, once she finds a way to convince Q to take her back again. Won’t she?

The question turns and turns in Kathryn’s head as she takes up her coffee again and heads back towards the table, grateful for the insulating mug that kept the blessed beverage hot. It’s only a question of time until she leaves. Days, hopefully, and who knows how many. And yes, of course Kathryn will cherish this – interlude? Experience? Whatever it is. Had it been her decision, she wouldn’t have begun this, because she knew how it would have to end, but now that she’s been drawn right in, she doesn’t want to think about the end anymore. It’s hard for Kathryn to admit to herself that she doesn’t really look forward to that part of getting back to Voyager, harder to admit she’s going to miss Marie and her irreverent, irritating, loopily delightful ways. Harder still, and getting harder all the time, to think of all the regrets she keeps amassing, somehow.

The mug’s emptying rapidly by now, and Kathryn idly leafs through a book that Marie has left on the table, one of a series Kathryn hasn’t started on yet because it consists of so many books. Avid reader, Kathryn remembers Marie’s self-description with a smile – something they share. A line draws her gaze, then another, and before she knows it, Kathryn is turning the last pages, smiling and shaking her head, determinedly oblivious to the little voice that yells ‘evasion’ in the back of her mind. At least now she knows where Marie’s loopy sense of humor originates. The turtle moves, indeed. She turns the book around in her hands, musing on imagery and metaphors, eagles and tortoises, deserts and decisions and the death of gods. A little thought turns up that she was thinking about other things entirely, before she started reading, but it’s forgotten quickly when a small piece of paper with a sketch of a turtle on its back flutters out. When Kathryn sees what it says, she laughs out loud again, and then gets up and searches for the book the note recommended she might also like. There’s a note in that one, too, right in front, between the cover and the first page, this one simply, starkly black ink and white paper.

> Captain Coffee Bean – I’d never have thought you’d consent to be led a chase like this, and I hope you find this as merry as I do. Don’t cheat, now. Oh, and don’t forget to eat. M

This second book keeps the same delicate balance between deep, even dark musings and light, slightly twisted humor, and again there are ideas, motifs in there that speak to Kathryn, even if this time it’s about herself. Making choices, alone, and right there on the edge, keeping regrets and tears and anger to yourself, bottling them up until you found a way to turn them outwards – oh, Granny’s way rings true in Kathryn’s mind, true and dangerously close. If this is any indication of how good a judge of character Marie is, she must be a damn good counselor, Kathryn thinks to herself. She can’t have known about the special meaning that the phoenix has to Kathryn, though. To think of the aurora as the phoenix dancing is an image she hopes will stay with her – so powerful it was. And of course, there is another piece of paper, another sketch, a cup of dark liquid this time, liquid that might be coffee, might be tea, or might be just mud in water, and Kathryn reads the text on this one while she gets something to eat from the kitchen, mindful of the note before.

* * *

“I knew it!” I sing out when I spot Kathryn among the people stepping off the underground train. I hug and kiss her hello, and she hesitates only slightly, and I ignore that, quite deliberately. 

“Now what is this surprise of yours?” she asks when I link arms with her and walk with her to the escalator. 

“Do you trust me, Kathryn?” I answer with a question of my own when we’re in the intermediate level of the underground station.

“Depends, you know.” Oh the wry tone in her voice, and the wicked gleam in her eyes. 

“Well, the surprise will be even better if you close your eyes on the final escalator; and not open them until I tell you.” I know I’m pushing her. I know she isn’t one for surprises, and I hope she hasn’t spoiled this for herself, researching the underground destination I gave her on the internet or something. 

“How will I be able to walk anywhere in this crowd with my eyes closed?” 

“Ever learned to dance? Ballroom dancing, I mean?”

“Of course. Captains have to know how to dance.”

“Of course.” I smile at her impishly over glasses that have once more slid down on me, and she swats my arm. She’s taken to doing that after seeing the girls do it all the time, and I don’t mind. The fact that she does it at all, that she hasn’t withdrawn her other arm from its link with mine yet, that she’s let me hug and kiss her, here in public, even if reluctantly, makes me endure a swat quite easily, especially a flimsy one like that. “So I suggest you just let me lead”, I say, pushing my glasses up again with a quick flick of my finger.

“Like this?” she indicates our linked arms.

“Oh no”, I laugh, stepping around to face her. “Much too crowded for that. No, like this, I’m thinking.” And I catch her waist, hidden in my winter coat, and place my hands firmly a bit below it. She automatically grabs my shoulders for balance, and blushes, eyes darting, but I grin at her until she rolls her eyes and then closes them. Hell. She knows exactly what she’s doing; there’s a small smile on her lips that tells me so, and my breath catches in my throat when I think of how much this simple act of trust must cost her; how much it means to me.

* * *

Kathryn feels Marie move in further, hips almost touching now, through the thick swathes of clothing they both wear. It’s still surprisingly cold, a clear and sunny winter day, and she has no idea what she’ll see when she opens her eyes again. Oh, she’s debated with herself whether or not to close her eyes, but – in for a penny, in for a pound, and Marie looked so excited, so eager, that Kathryn wouldn’t have spoiled it for her for the world. She’s surrendered to being led, anyway, when she decided to heed that last note, telling her to be at this station at sixteen hundred (oh, and how she’d been delighted to realize the German way of telling the time compared to the Starfleet way closely enough that Marie instantly understood it, even adopted it). 

There’s a low, amiable chuckle from Marie, felt rather than heard through their nearness, and when she moves one hip forward, the very same nearness makes it easy for Kathryn to take her cue. Backwards. She’s leading her backwards. Good grief – but Kathryn keeps her eyes closed, and reckons the escalator is in that direction, and finds that Marie is an excellent lead indeed, with her measured steps, confident course changes, and the calmness of her hands on Kathryn’s back. Kathryn can feel people around them; sometimes their sounds say they’re close enough to touch, but they never do, never jostle, trip or stumble. 

Strange how other senses kick in when one is gone, however briefly. Her ears strain to analyze the movement of the people around them, until a turn of Marie’s torso, indicating they swerve to the right, reminds her that Marie’s eyes are open. Strange, too, how calm she feels, despite the noise and vivid after-image of a crowded subway station, with the sensation of Marie’s steady presence in front of her. Strange how strange it feels to be so intimately close to someone in front of so many strangers’ eyes, eyes she doesn’t even see anymore but imagines watching from every direction, and yet to be so calm, calm enough to keep her eyes closed, at least.

“We’re at the escalator”, Marie says quietly, in a voice that says she still holds a smile. Her grip on Kathryn’s hips changes, hands sliding up a little to hold Kathryn even more securely, and then to steady her when the transition to the escalator’s motion jars Kathryn’s steps. Then the feeling of Marie’s body against hers changes, and Kathryn realizes Marie is a step below her, and if she’d open her eyes now she’d have the chance to look down on the younger woman for once, but she doesn’t, and Marie chuckles again, rises on her tip toes and kisses Kathryn lightly, full on the lips. Kathryn can _feel_ Marie’s smile in this kiss, somewhere between cocky and gentle, and she doesn’t need to see Marie’s eyes to know how mirthful they’ll be. 

“End of the escalator coming up, and don’t open your eyes yet.” Again, the transition is a bit wobbly, but Kathryn regains her footing by leaning into Marie, and Marie, damn her, laughs again, for the sheer joy of it, apparently. Kathryn can feel Marie’s cheek on hers suddenly, and a fervently whispered “Thank you” reassures her that the laughter wasn’t meant for her, not that way. 

They’re on cobbles now, and Marie slows down accordingly, and Kathryn feels a little giddy when she realizes how much she enjoys this. The feeling of helplessness is quite negligible, in fact, not least when the confident strength of Marie’s hands and arms helps Kathryn forget about how uneasy she should feel but doesn’t. Marie keeps up a stream of comments about how full of people the square is today, and how there are tourists trying in vain to get ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ is, on a picture – apparently ‘it’ is too large for a picture – and she’s good at this, too: Kathryn can practically see people monkeying around in her mind’s eye.

“There are four steps upwards that we have to negotiate, and then we’re almost there”, Marie tells her finally, and those are much more of a challenge than the escalator ever was, but they manage, and then Kathryn feels the sun’s warmth on her left, and Marie turns her around until it’s on her right, and steps aside.

“Open”, Marie says lightly, smile still in her voice. 

When Kathryn obeys, the sunlight, lateral, golden and low on this winter afternoon, almost blinds her, and she blinks a few times. Behind the moisture-fractured light, a mass of grey is rising, and rising, and rising still, and her jaw drops slowly as her eyes travel upwards. Just as slowly, as they adjust to the sudden brightness, her eyes start to take in the unbelievable amount of detail on…

“The finest example of a High Gothic church portal in Christendom”, Marie declares with considerable pathos, and just a hint of a smile. Kathryn opens her mouth but doesn’t find words; she does manage a nod to Marie’s comment of “Breathtaking, isn’t it?”, and Marie’s answering beam of a grin rivals the sun’s brightness. Then the younger woman’s eyes roam the square and lock onto a middle-aged, balding man with a youthful spring in his step who’s heading towards them.

“Tom!” she greets him when he’s still a few steps away, and introduces him as Thomas Irvine, guide in the employ of Cologne Cathedral, which is what they’re standing in front of. 

“Nice to meet you, Kathryn”, he smiles at her, “where are you from?” His accent is soft and decidedly British, so Kathryn feels safe in answering “Indiana”, and is rewarded by a polite and unknowing nod. “Never been to the US before; not many gothic churches there, right?” At Kathryn’s puzzled frown, he explains, “I’m a stone mason; my work’s in restoring these splendid old buildings to their original grace. Oh, Cologne Cathedral is a marvel, Kathryn, just wait. Why don’t we start inside, the windows’ll blow you away in this sunshine.”

And just like that, they’re on their own private guided tour. Kathryn sees several larger groups queuing in front of the entrance, but the three of them pass through the main portal easily, and when they round one of the massive columns and Kathryn sees the nave for the first time, she can’t stop her jaw from dropping again. Tall, so tall, so high-reaching, and the long, elegant lines going heavenwards, with their clear and graceful pointed arches at their top, make the loftiness seem even more so. 

Marie’s grin is threatening to split her face in half, but Tom’s stories of proportions, their meanings, and of builder’s techniques and cabals soon have her as entranced as Kathryn. The windows are amazing, beams of multi-colored sunlight stabbing through the nave in the slight haze of well over a thousand visitors’ breaths, a million votive candles, and left-over incense from the last service. 

“Oh yes, there are services in here, of course there are”, Tom answers when Kathryn voices her amazement. “You’ve missed the organ recital, but there’s another treat in store for you after the official tour.” He winks and refuses to elaborate, pointing out the nave organ instead, with its swallow’s nest construction, suspended on heavy-duty wires from the roof, and the transept organ in the north-east corner. 

“Now turn around slowly and hold on to your jaw, Kathryn”, Tom smiles, and the large window in the southwest transept, flooded with sunshine, is completely unlike any stained-glass window Kathryn has ever seen. There are no figures of saints or kings in this window, no mosaic of dazzling intricateness, only squares of colored glass with no apparent order at all. It looks out of place for a heartbeat, but then Kathryn’s view shifts, and suddenly it’s completely natural and fitting that this window should be here, in this church that looks like the epitome of medieval building glory but that wasn’t, from what Tom said, finished until the nineteenth century, after finding the original plans in an attic ended a three-hundred-year break; a church that includes little statues of football players and Carnival revelers on its spires, and is roofed with an iron structure that was state-of-the-art technology at its time. 

Tom really is an excellent guide, quite obviously in love with this building, and his exuberance is infectious – Marie, for her part, hasn’t lost her grin once, she’s clearly as smitten with Cologne Cathedral as Tom is, and tells Kathryn in a whisper that she’s been up the tower at least seven times already, and that Kathryn has to see it. 

Kathryn wants to see that roof and the football player, first, though – she can’t believe there might be statues like that on a church, and such a grand one, at that. It seems being with Tom is an all-access pass, as he opens doors and takes them up a lift and a staircase and through more doors, and suddenly tall and somewhat spindly brick red T-beams span a floor of softly rounded curves and Kathryn realizes they’re right above the nave, and these are the state-of-the-art ironworks that Tom spoke of, the ones that share construction details with none other than the Eiffel Tower in Paris, and are thirty years older, to boot. Then another door takes them outside and to a view that brings home the fact that they’re seventy meters above the ground, and Tom shows them original thirteenth-century masonry, and nineteenth and twentieth and twenty-first, and how masons left their individual marks on the building (like football players – good God, but there really is one), infinitesimal between spires and buttresses and statues of angels, but there nevertheless, and Kathryn will remember them. 

The ascent to the south tower is shorter for the lift ride they already had. When Tom takes them through actual roofed-over workshops and yet another door and they come out in a narrow spiral staircase covered in graffiti, Marie pummels Tom’s shoulder.

“Tom! You always took me down and made me climb the stairs again, all five hundred of them, you drill sergeant. I never knew you could get here from there!” 

He just grins and pats Marie’s midriff, winking at Kathryn, and then turns and runs as Marie makes to chase him up the stairs. Narrow windows set into the walls give light to the stairs, and also illuminate how incredibly thin the walls are, and how the stairs climb and climb. Each and every one of them shows either new details in stonework or a new vista of Cologne under a setting sun, and Kathryn marvels how Tom retains enough breath to talk about either. 

The view from the top is more spectacular still, and Tom explains that there isn’t a single building in Cologne that’s taller than the Cathedral, while Marie points out landmarks that mean nothing at all to Kathryn, and Venus, already on the west horizon, and stone angels colonizing the spires. It’s peaceful up here, even though snatches of sound from the ant-like profusion of people on the square reach them sometimes, and Kathryn is amazed when she feels the stone hum from wind-woken resonances in the thick cables securing the metal scaffolding higher up. 

Descending, they stop at a landing and turn into passage that leads further into the tower. The corridor is barely wide enough to fit Tom’s and Marie’s shoulders, and walking between the two of them feels slightly claustrophobic, but Kathryn forgets that as soon as she turns the corner. The bells are huge. Massive. The ironwork of their hangings is similar to the roof structure, and the machinery for ringing them seems to be the original article. Tom’s explanations confirms this, and he talks about the three largest bells with the awe they silently command: Saint Peter’s Bell of 1922, largest freely swinging bell in the world at twenty-four tons, and with pride of place in the center of the belfry; to its left, Pretiosa, the Precious, and behind that Speciosa, the Beauteous, both cast in 1448, and in their age alone well deserving of their capital letters. 

The belfry slowly fills with other people, and Marie explains that Saint Peter’s Bell, or Big Pitter, has been fitted with a new tongue recently, and that this is the day when it’ll first ring out again, and the people present are craftsmen and clergymen, and journalists, of course. Then there’s a click, whirr and a snap of a line tautening, suddenly, as the motor in the center comes to life, and cameras flash and an excited buzz spreads through the crowd as Tom hands out ear protectors. The sight of Big Pitter majestically, ponderously, starting to move, easily twice as large as the next-biggest bell, deceives Kathryn about how long it will take for the first tone to sound, and despite her protectors, the sheer magnitude of it blows her away when it comes. The whole belfry vibrates, and when Marie embraces Kathryn from behind, Kathryn notices how they too, both of them, resonate with the strokes. 

Big Pitter rings in joyful, glorious solitude for a long time and Kathryn stops analyzing the tones and overtones after a while and just gives in to the harmonics that literally shake her. Then, one after the other, the rest set it, until there’s movement everywhere, completely chaotic, wondrously harmonic, peal upon peal upon heaving peal of more notes than the number of bells can account for, a tapestry of sound that dwarfs everything Kathryn has ever experienced. It’s a physical force felt throughout her body rather than something perceivable by ear, and the fact that Marie’s breaths are closer to gasps tells Kathryn that she’s as moved as Kathryn is. 

After what seems a long time, and again one by one, the swinging bells peter out until it’s only Big Pitter and Pretiosa in irregular dialogue, softly humming to each other until first sound, then movement, ceases completely, and Kathryn becomes slowly aware of her surroundings again, and of people clapping. Marie is actually trembling, and when Kathryn turns around, there are tears on the younger woman’s cheeks. Kathryn reaches out and touches them with a questioning glance only to find both glance and movement mirrored by Marie, and realizes her own cheeks are wet, too. Then Marie flicks her finger against Kathryn’s ear protectors, resulting in a crackling sound that breaks the moment into smiles. 

“Many people think”, Tom explains as they leave for the stairs to escape the crowd, “me among them, that this is the most beautiful set of bells in the world.”

“Hell yes”, Marie seconds that empathically. 

Kathryn is quiet, and catches Marie’s shoulder a few steps down. “Thank you.” Her voice is still thick with elation, not in any religious sense of the word, but in simply being amazed, lifted, filled with joy. She’s looking down at Marie, now, and remembers for a fleeting second how she’s wished to do just that barely two hours ago. She’s not sure how to express how moved she feels, by the sound, the sights, the amount of thought that Marie has put into this day’s events, beginning with one little note and ending on a chord so vast Kathryn still feels speechless. Marie looks at her for a moment, in the harsh neon lights that have come on now the sun’s gone completely, and then she stands up on tip toe, but not for a kiss this time. She catches Kathryn’s face in her hands instead, pulling Kathryn’s forehead to hers, nose to nose, while Kathryn grasps Marie’s upper arms to steady both of them. 

“Thank you, for being here with me, Kathryn”, the younger woman whispers, her voice just as full of unsaid words as Kathryn’s has been. Marie’s crooning of her name – the soft fricative, the trilled r so different from the way Marie pronounces the same letter in her own name (a way Kathryn can never get quite right), the y that is darker, closer to the German ü-umlaut than to the simple i-sound it usually gets – all of it caresses Kathryn’s cheek, and somehow this feels more intimate than a kiss would, and Kathryn really, really doesn’t want to leave this, to leave Marie behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The books alluded to are, of course, "Small Gods" and Carpe Jugulum", by Terry Pratchett. I did put in another Pratchett quote earlier, and I daresay you'll find more as the work progresses. Credit where it's due, the man is GENIUS. Go read. Do it.
> 
> The possibility to visit Cologne Cathedral's roof, tower and belfry exists (as does the football player), and is greatly recommended even if you won't be able to hear Big Pitter.


	3. February 14th.

“You worry too much”, she tells me, quite seriously. She’d been about to head to the sofa herself, I’m certain, and, turning to her side to reach over me and switch off the light, found my eyes wide open. Now her head is propped up on her arm instead, and she’s smiling as she says it, but oh how my answering grin mocks her. She scowls at me, about as serious as I am. “Alright, so do I at times, I’ll concede as much. I just thought you’d be exhausted enough to fall asleep instantly.”

“I’m younger than you. More stamina.” She bites my shoulder for that, though not too hard because I know her soft spots for tickling by now. Hell, she’s the one awake all through the night every so often, and we both know that, just as we both know, by now, how irritable I can get on less than eight hours of sleep. Turning to my side, myself, I catch a strand of her hair between my fingers and start to play with it. I like to do that, and leave my hair just long enough to play with, too, but hers is far longer, and far more fun.

“So what do you want to talk about?” she asks suddenly, and I stop short in my amazement, elbow in the air, face incredulous enough that it’s an answer in itself, apparently. “Some conversations are best held at night”, she shrugs, and yet her eyes are sincere, and vulnerable.

“This. You.” I hesitate.

“Us”, she says the word I couldn’t. 

“Yes.”

She sighs, and starts to trail my jaw with one finger of her free hand. “Marie, you are… I don’t have words for what you are. For what we are. I don’t even know if there can be a ‘we’ to have words for.” I nod, slowly, and close my eyes, because what wells up in me is something I don’t want her to see. 

“Marie.” Hints of her command voice, but almost apologetically so, then a loud silence, until, finally, I look at her. “What’s wrong?” 

I have to close my eyes again to evade hers. We barely touch, and still I’m immensely aware of every square millimeter where we do, every bit of skin or night-shirt. “I don’t know. This… we… might be. I… I don’t know.” 

And I know these words hurt her, but I don’t want to be anything but honest, and I find she understands what I’m trying to say when she replies, “Neither do I. Of all the things that have happened to me during the last six years, this is surely the most unbeliev-“, and even though I realize, on some level, that she’s just being as honest as I was, her words hurt me too much, too much, but her finger is on my jaw, still, and holds me with its feathery touch, and I meet her eyes again, and can’t look away. “Marie, please. I… I’m sorry. That, in context, was a poorly chosen word. This… it’s wonderful. Being with you is wonderful, and please don’t think I would ever feel otherwise, or be uncomfortable expressing it.”

“…but.” It comes out as a croak and I marvel at the sound. She’s silent for a long time, then nods, and I flop to my back and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying, my eyes on the ceiling because I can’t bear to look at her. “I’m sorry”, I say thickly, when I can.

“God”, she breathes, “Don’t be. Not for… oh, Marie.” And how I love how she says my name, and under different circumstances, just the tone of her voice would be something to exult over, but as it is, it’s all I can do to look at her once more. When my eyes meet hers, she moves in, and I think both of us take comfort when she slips into my arms in a movement that is slowly becoming familiar, her hair soft under my chin, her arm flung across my ribcage and up beneath my shoulder. “I know we’re meeting your friends tomorrow, and you worry about what to tell them”, which isn’t quite right, because I know what to tell them, I just don’t know what she wants to reveal; but I keep my silence, and am rewarded. 

“When you hugged and kissed me yesterday”, she goes on quietly, “when you led me through that station… I didn’t mind that. No, more than that, I…” her voice trails away, and again, I’m silent, listening to what she says and what she doesn’t. “I’d never have thought that I… that’s what I meant with unbelievable, you know. Somehow, all of this feels… oh, I don’t know. Unreal”, and she touches my cheek to convey that she doesn’t intend to hurt me, and it kind of works, “and yet you’re here, and very real indeed, and it makes me… you…” 

She breaks off again and sighs, and it’s my turn to touch her cheek now, to let her know I know she isn’t at home with talking about her feelings like that. I put as much affirmation and reassurance into my touch and my silence as I can, and again, I am rewarded. “You make me feel good, Marie”, she goes on, “safe. Happy.” There’s one word missing, I think, but how am I to know, and the tone of her voice announces this is the last word on this subject, anyway. But it’s enough, isn’t it? I nearly shake my head at myself, so needful of talking things out, usually, of analyzing every emotion with the sharpest razor available, and yet content with her not saying words that I so want to hear.

“Kathryn”, and I need to clear my throat because my voice, patiently silent as it has been, fails at crooning her name the way I want to. “Kathryn, it’s fine. Everything is fine.” I pause, unsure. “Well. You know what I mean. Obviously…” but I can feel her cheek crinkle in a smile, and she interrupts me.

“Neither of us knows what’s going to happen tomorrow, that’s true. I…” she takes a deep breath. “I haven’t told you this before, but…” and then, _then_ she tells me the wildest story yet, about an omnipotent being, and my questions lead to further explanations, and I dislodge her after a while, to search her face for a hint of a smile, unsuccessfully. She’s leaning against the headboard, now, and I’m cross-legged in front of her, both of us with little blanket tents around our shoulders, against a cold that comes more from seeing the snow fall outside the window than from the room’s temperature. 

“I just don’t get it”, she says with an explosive breath when she’s through. “When you needled me into expressing that I hate being stuck and helpless, I would have sworn that would have been his clue to appear right there and then, you know. I mean, he was talking about self-improvement, and I would have thought that that realization qualified.”

“Well, which ‘least-used ability of yours’, to use his words, would that have been, then?”

“Introspection?”

“But you do that.”

“Thanks. Coming from a social worker, that means a lot.” And she smirks at me, every bit as disrespectful as I usually grin at her. Then she looks away again, almost self-consciously so, and her next words tell me why. “Then I thought, what with his former innuendoes about mating, his hints that ‘it’s been a long time’ and all that, that he… ah…”

“… wanted you to get laid?” My eyebrows shoot up and I can’t help laughing at that, and oh, how she blushes.

“But if that were the case, he… I mean, we… we did…”

“Oh, we’re far from finished, you know. I think it’s very considerate of him not to come knocking just yet.” 

This renders her speechless for a second, while my laughter cedes center-stage to the sauciest grin I have in store. “Good God”, she breathes, adventurousness and awe in her eyes, and we share a laugh, quite delighted with ourselves, at least for the moment. Nevertheless. I clear my throat, sobering up a little. “But let’s concentrate on what he’s said. I guess he’s your ticket home, at a time of his choosing, right?”

“I hate to admit it, but I think you’re right.”

“Am I right, too, in guessing that he’s set you a task, and his hints about self-improvement and abilities might help you fulfill that?”

“He’s been known to do that. So, yes, if we assume that’s true, then if I knew what this task was, I could complete it and demand he return me to Voyager. God knows I’ve tried to find out what he meant; I’ve been looking left, right and center, for ways to improve myself, ways to help others, or whatever. I thought for a while maybe it had something to do with you, or one of the girls, but I can’t see anything even remotely resembling a Q-worthy task there.”

“Thanks. I guess.” 

And then her smile fades, and instead of thinking about ‘here’ further, she worries about ‘there’; she tells me how she misses her crew, and I see how it upsets her that she’s having fun, here, when she has no idea how they fare, for all Q’s reassurances that they’re ‘outside time’, or whatever, for the time being. It’s then that the thought shoots through my head that her captain’s face seems to have become far more than just a role to wear at times; and on its heels follows the question if this, maybe, isn’t the task Q’s sent her here for. She can’t let go, I think, won’t allow it to herself, and as I listen to her I wonder if it was a sensible move to introduce her to Granny Weatherwax, who never lets go either. She does end up on the sofa, and I fall asleep trying not to think about the loneliness I saw in her eyes when she walked away from me.

* * *

`hey miss mary-jane, was läuft?`

`Hey Ellen – it’s Kathryn, not Marie. I’m using her computer to do some research.`

`oh, right! sorry!`  
`how do you do? are you coming tonight, too?`  
`and can i help with your research?`

`Tonight? Oh – the ‘this is no Valentine’s’ dinner, right? I’d love to.`  
`Re research: I don’t think so, although I’m at a dead end at the moment, I must admit.`

`exactly. and we’d love to have you `  
There’s a sketched yellow face, smiling, tailing after that message, and Kathryn sees an icon with another one like it next to the line where she enters messages, so she clicks that and is amazed.

`unless you want a rain check? `  
and another one, grinning broadly.

And Kathryn ponders why Ellen should ask that, staring at the blinking cursor and trying to think of an answer.

`kathryn?`

`I’m sorry, I’m `  
she sends this before seconds can stretch into minutes, to let Ellen know she’s still there, but then it hangs there and still she doesn’t know how to go on, when the messenger alerts her to the fact that Ellen’s typing and she realizes Ellen probably sees when Kathryn’s typing, too.

`not sure you want to go to a this is no valentine’s dinner? `  
a face that’s winking, very ostentatiously, too, to Kathryn’s mind  
`let me guess at your research `  
`and the reason you’re baffled `  
`you typed gay as a keyword `  
`and now the screen is full of `  
`*ominous pause* `  
`stuff`

Again, Kathryn stares at the blinking black line, starts to type something, deletes it again.

`wondering how I know? `

`Yes`  
and why isn’t there a face that expresses how bewildered and insecure Kathryn feels all of a sudden?

`usually, marie sends me `  
`a gazillion messages a day`  
`the last days, a LOT less, `  
`and those either uncommonly meager `  
`or exceptionally exuberant`  
a grinning face

`She’s told you? `

`not in so many words`  
`but she doesn’t need to, you know`  
`you’re always in her messages `  
`and i recognize that`  
`i guess she’s hesitant `  
`because of`  
`well`  
`your privacy, for one thing`  
`my situation, for another`

`I see. `  
and Kathryn includes a smiling face of her own to indicate her understanding, and relief, thinking that these faces are really handy that way.

`she did send me that picture though`  
`god was she proud of it`

Aagain, Kathryn hesitates to write anything. That picture (and she’s pretty certain which one Ellen’s talking about) is such a private thing, and good God, it practically shouts with emotion, so to imagine that Marie shared it with someone else is a… uneasy thought. On the other hand, Ellen is Marie’s best friend, and on top of that, Kathryn knows how much Marie likes to boast sometimes, when she’s proud of something. The status line underneath Ellen’s name changes to ‘typing’ again, and Kathryn’s glad that she doesn’t have to answer.

`i think it’s great, by the way, you know`  
`the two of you, i mean`

`Oh?`

`god, yes`  
`first, it's about time`  
`second, i think you two fit very well`  
`you’re so confident`  
`poised`  
`you can stop her when her rampant ego gets the better of her`  
three grinning faces in a row

There’s a blushing one that fits quite nicely, so that’s all Kathryn answers Ellen with, and another grinning face returns.

`But her ego’s not rampant.`

`says you`  
`awfully nice of you, too`  
`but you have to admit `  
`her confidence can get on one’s nerves at times`  
This face rolls its eyes while smiling, a little gesture at once teasing and indulgent, and something stabs Kathryn. Oh, to have a friend who feels like that. As a result, her answer is a little more open than usual.

`I know. She’s completely irreverent, fearless, somehow, and I like that very much about her.`

`you like that she doesn’t respect you?`  
a winking face again

The cursor’s blinking looks like a tapping finger on a table sounds, to Kathryn. This time, she opts for a question of her own.  
`You know her well, don’t you?`

`12 years`  
`several catastrophes`  
`good times, too`  
`no one knows me better than she does`  
`guess it goes the other way, too `  
the eye-rolling face again  
`so, what do you want to know?`

`Are you always so forthright?`  
and a winking face to indicate the lightness of that question. They’re really a good idea.

`she won’t mind you asking`  
`so i can be`  
`and i think you’re good for her`  
` so i’ll do whatever i can `  
`to help things along.`  
a face with a big, big grin accompanies this.

`Thanks, I guess. `  
and Kathryn finds the same face to post back at Ellen.

`So`

A pause, while Kathryn considers what to say.

`i’m curious`

`Well.... we... `  
are they a ‘we’?  
`We’re close, but I don’t know what that means. I’ve never… I mean I always`  
and why is this so hard to express?

`you never considered yourself gay`

`Yes, and… I don’t know if I am, either, if this makes me… `  
Talking like this, not hearing a voice, not seeing a mouth move, is so strangely disembodied, disconnected, that somehow it doesn’t seem like revealing things to someone else to Kathryn, more like talking them over inside her own mind.  
`I never looked at women that way, but Marie…`

`i know what you mean`  
`she’s something, isn’t she`

`She’s special, yes.`  
and there’s a question clamoring so loudly in Kathryn’s head that she’s not surprised when Ellen’s next message answers it, a grinning face preceding her words.

`she fell in love with me when we met`  
`way back when`  
`but i’m a straight kinsey zero`  
`and she respected that and we became friends instead`  
`so, i guess i know how it feels to be loved by her`

Love?

`kathryn?`

Love?

`surprised by my choice of words?`

`Yes`  
and again, Kathryn wishes for a face with an appropriately bewildered expression.

`hell, did you look at that picture?`  
`she does, believe me`  
`probably won’t breathe a word about it, though`  
`too damn controlled to say the words this early`  
`but watch her eyes`  
`her smile`  
`you’ll see`

`Why are you telling me?`  
of all her questions, somehow this is the easiest.

`the first time she mentioned meeting you`  
`she said you probably wouldn’t be here for long`  
`it would be so like her `  
`if she kept her love heroically to herself`  
the eye-roller once more  
`i don’t want you to leave without knowing`  
`maybe it’ll change things`  
`???`  
`ok gotta go, honey, lunch break’s over`  
`see you tonight!`

Ellen’s logging off leaves Kathryn staring at the screen, at the conversation. For all that Ellen offered to answer Kathryn’s questions, a lot more new ones are churning in Kathryn’s mind right now. Love? How does love look like, in a woman’s eyes, and how do you recognize it when you’ve never looked for it before, not there? And: change things? How? Kathryn can’t stay here, Marie can’t come with her. That’s exactly why this being love would be damn inconvenient, to say the least. And what about her own feelings? Does she love Marie? 

Loving Justin had been an all-out, nothing-held-back feeling. She’d trusted him, trusted their love, trusted the universe not to do what it, inexorably, did. After losing him, Kathryn hasn’t ever felt like that again, hasn’t even been sure she could, has been quite sure it would be a bad idea to love someone so much, ever again. Whereas Mark – Mark had been a constant in her life, a constant she’d learned to cherish after losing both Justin and her father in that accident. Their relationship had been a chance at healing, his love strong, gentle. Strong enough for both of them? She’d never felt the same way with him than she’d felt with Justin, but surely she couldn’t have, could she? He was someone else, wasn’t he, and surely there’s more than one form of love, anyway, isn’t there? And then his letter had found her, telling her how he’d found someone else after giving Kathryn up for dead, and yes, it had hurt, but it hadn’t been the sharp pain, the heart-break, the resentment that Kathryn had expected somehow, and even Chakotay had seen that, and presented her with an explanation that had surprised her only in the first few moments. Still, another door had swung closed that day.

And then she’d met, and lost, Jaffen, and that, now, that is a wound carefully shut away, a pain she’s still not over yet, a shake-your-fists-and-rail-at-the-gods fury, quite apart from the unbelievable mortification and vulnerability of being told that all your memories aren’t what you thought they were. And on top of that, somehow, that episode has changed the way she and Chakotay relate to each other, and she still doesn’t know why, or how to change it back, and she misses it, misses the easy companionship that’s held her up more often than she can remember- but Kathryn stops pondering that when she realizes it’s taking her away from her original line of thought. Or is it? What’s between Chakotay and her, extraordinarily complex as it is, isn’t love, but friendship, isn’t it – especially after their time on New Earth, and the agreement they’ve reached afterwards. Kathryn sighs. Another regret, that one, but an old one, its teeth pulled by facing it daily whenever she steps onto the bridge.

What she’s felt for all of them, varied though it was, has been different yet again from what she feels now, and for heaven’s sake, she knows Marie for all of three weeks, how can it be love? How can Ellen be sure of Marie’s feelings, even if she knows Marie as well as she says? And even if this _was_ love – how much love, what kind of love can it be, when Kathryn knows it won’t last, can’t last? For a fleeting second, she sees Marie in her quarters, grinning impishly up at her from the sofa, starry rainbows streaking by behind her head, PADD in her hand. No. Kathryn shakes her head. No, it wouldn’t work, for so many reasons. Q had indicated that Marie could help Kathryn find a way back home, that had been all. How can Kathryn even think about dragging Marie in further – to the far reaches of the universe, as it were? Away from her circle of friends, away from Ellen – and again, something stabs Kathryn, and this time, she notices, and frowns. Jealousy? No. Surely not. No – envy, it must be envy, if anything. Envy for Marie’s and Ellen’s friendship, their closeness, something Kathryn has never known. She’s never had a best friend like that, someone so close, except maybe Mark, in a way. Tuvok is close to her, but he’s Vulcan, and he’d never smile that eye-rolling smile, and Chakotay… 

The cursor blinks for a long time, unheeded.

* * *

Kathryn is subdued when I come back from work, and when I cock my head in a silent question, she shakes hers and finds a distracted smile somewhere. Five minutes later, you wouldn’t have known there ever was a frown on her face, and I make a mental note of how quickly and completely she’s able to put this aside, to talk to her about it when an opportunity presents itself. Right now, we don’t have time to talk about anything; I can barely change into different clothes before we have to leave again, for Ellie’s place this time. Somehow I feel a little guilty bringing Kathryn to the girl’s dinner date, expressly and deliberately tonight and not on Friday, and supposedly a single-only, damn-that-Valentine’s-business affair. Damned timing all around, I guess. I know we’re in for relentless teasing, too, when the girls find out, and they will, as soon as they set eyes on us. Now that she’s banished that sadness I saw earlier, Kathryn glows, in that not-so-subtle, kind of saturated way, and I guess so do I. 

Barely an hour later, the six of us are in Ellie’s kitchen, cooking and laughing and exchanging ideas about the upcoming Carnival week that grow more outrageous with every glass of prosecco. Kathryn listens with round eyes to stories of how exuberant, how unrestrained Carnival week can get, and glares unsuccessfully when the girls argue about how to deck her out without bothering to ask her whether she wants to be, at all. But that’s the way with Carnival, and friends, and I’m so glad that we haven’t been disinvited right on the doorstep that I won’t tell anybody off just for teasing.

Ellie hasn’t commented on it. Us. Kathryn and I. Well, at least not with words. The look on her face when she opened the door was, just for a fraction of a second, a peculiar mixture of pain, longing, resignation and, yes, joy, for us, I guess. Then it reverted to her usual easy smile, and she greeted Kathryn as if nothing had happened. Kathryn looked at her in a strange way, too, and I even now I wonder what she’s seen in Ellie’s face, and what she makes of what she’s seen. 

I’d been torn, really, at the thought of meeting Ellie, torn between my tumbling, churning thoughts, my happiness, and her heartache, so piercing still. Hell, it’s barely been three weeks that she’s single, and it’s Valentine’s Day to top things off, and her best friend is floating off the ground with infatuation. Truth to tell, I’m ashamed about the exuberance in some of the messages I sent during the last days, even if Ellie responded lightly, teasingly, completely appropriately to them. I don’t know where she finds the strength to bear my buoyancy in good spirit, but she does, just as Kathryn and I find the discipline to keep our hands off each other. There is one moment, though, when Kathryn and I are side by side in front of the stove, my hand on the small of her back, hers stirring the curry we’re preparing, and I turn to Ellie to ask her how much chili to put into the dish and see the longing in her eyes, the naked envy. She’s much more tactile than I am, and I know losing the physical closeness of a partner has been hard for her, and there she stands, next to two people glowing with sexual satisfaction, one of them her best friend. I can barely keep myself from hugging her, hard, right there and then, but she only meets my eyes and smiles wanly, and looks away.

We’re tip-toeing around on eggshells anyway, in this tangle of emotions, but I think Kathryn has the hardest time of it, because, for all my worries about Ellie’s state of emotions, we girls are comfortable with one another, and she’s too new to this circle yet. And I think, for all her big words yesterday, she’s unsure, still, of how to be around me with others looking on, no matter if these ‘others’ are strangers in a train station (as if a Cologne crowd would ever take a female couple amiss, but then again, how would she know?) or the girls, and among them the one person in the world who knows me best. She seems uncertain of how to behave towards me, too, for some reason, and I think it’s a little sweet, all the more so for being so unexpected. Ellie comes through as usual, though, even teasing Kathryn when she hesitates at my offer of a taste of the curry, a thoughtful concoction of chicken, vegetables, and pale yellow sauce – on my spoon. 

“It’s not as if sharing a spoon is-“, but Kathryn shuts her up by accepting the mouthful, and Ellie laughs her easy laugh, and there’s not a hint of envy in her eyes, and I marvel at her strength again. Kathryn eases up a bit after that, but I find her… well, her shyness completely endearing and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can. I won’t go as far as teasing her, though. Or maybe I will. Her blush is so endearing, too. And maybe it’ll take away that sorrow I saw earlier.

“So what are _your_ plans for Carnival week?” I ask Ellie on our way to the table, big pot of steamed rice in my hands. 

She rolls her eyes eloquently, setting the bowl down. “I plan to spend as much time away from it as I can, as far as I possibly can. I’m meeting Anna in the spa on Saturday afternoon, massage and all – do you want to come?” 

“Which spa?” I stall and look over to Kathryn, trying to get a feeling of what she thinks of it. When she finally notices my attempt at making eye contact and nods with a shrug and one of her half-smiles, complete with raised eyebrow. I grin back joyfully; I hadn’t thought she’d accede so quickly.

“Neptunbad”, Ellie replies, to whistles round the table. 

“Who’s paying?” It’s kind of expensive, but the Neptunbad is worth it. And Kathryn obviously hasn’t thought of that, her flinch and subsequent imploring gaze tells me so. My turn for a shrug and a smile, now, and apparently, she doesn’t want to start a glaring match right now, as the conversation moves on around us, with Anna piping up, “I insisted, because, Ellie, you deserve a bit of care and attention and to hell with the cost.” Again, Ellie rolls her eyes. “Besides, I still have two vouchers that we can use”, Anna adds, to a round of laughter.

“Hear, hear”, Sarah grins and raises her glass.

“I certainly concur”, Kathryn comments, startling me. She notices. “What, am I not allowed to commiserate? I’ve had relationships end on me as well, you know. It’s a time to pamper and indulge yourself.” 

Wherever that comes from all of a sudden, she’s certainly right, so, “hear, hear”, I echo Sarah, cheering them on, and the rest of our dinner rings with laughter and curses about men and women and their shortcomings, and no mention at all of doubts and fears when falling in love. When there’s a lull in the conversation and we’re getting ready for desert, I turn to Kathryn, still laughing from Anna’s last joke. Her face becomes guarded when she notices, but I grin that away, too.

“You’re going to love Carnival. I swear. Wait till it starts on Thursday.” 

“It starts-? But we saw people in costumes last week!” she protests. 

“Oh no, that is just practice”, Sarah puts in her two cents. “Thursday morning at eleven past eleven, all hell will be loose. And we will be in the middle of it. You have to see it. You can’t be in Cologne during Carnival Week and not go, whatever Ellie says.” She even raises a finger to silence Kathryn when she opens her mouth. “And no ‘but’. We are going.”

“I shall take it as an opportunity to learn.” Kathryn acquiesces.

“No, you shall take it, as we all do, as an opportunity to go completely off your rockers. Trust me.” This from Anna, and I join her grin.

“Well, maybe I’ll even go that far, but I will not, I repeat not, wear a zebra-striped cowboy hat.” Kathryn’s refusal is flat.

“Don’t they wear cowboy hats where you come from? Indiana, wasn’t it?” Ellie asks, back with vanilla pudding and mango sauce.

“No cattle, no cowboys, no cowboy hats. And certainly no zebras.”

“Oh come on, Kathryn”, Julia wheedles.

“No hat.”

“You don’t look good in a hat?” I ask her, eyes alight.

“I don’t look good in a zebra-striped one.”

“How do you know? It might go well with the pink wig.” And all of us laugh, now, at the thunderstruck look Julia’s comment has painted onto Kathryn’s face. Alright, so the pink wig hasn’t come up before, and it’s completely at odds with her coloring, but hey, this is Carnival.

She glares at me, though, for whatever reason. “What will you wear, anyway?” she asks me, her voice accusatory somehow.

“I’ll be a witch; dress, scarf, pointy hat.”

“I’d like that. I’d look taller.” 

“The dress has burgundy lining. It would clash horribly with your hair.”

“Does it go well with a pink wig?”

“Good Lord, Kathryn”, I laugh, “you’d do anything to get out of that zebra hat number, wouldn’t you?”


	4. February 15th

Before the two of them leave for home, the girls have Kathryn fully kitted out, at least in theory, and plans for each day of Carnival are firmly in place. It all seems over the top to Kathryn, but she’ll concede that she has no idea what Carnival in Cologne might have in store for her, and the girls wink every doubt away until Kathryn rolls her eyes and joins everyone’s grins. 

Marie has suggested, and for some reason Kathryn has agreed to, walking home instead of taking public transports, despite the fact that it takes the better part of an hour, and despite the ugliness of snow turned to grey slush over the day – it hasn’t been cold enough to preserve it, but temperatures are frisky enough now to quicken both their steps. Yet it’s also invigorating, and a good time to ask questions, if only to prevent other questions from being asked. Kathryn remembers the searching look Marie gave her when she came home, and she’s certain it’ll come up if she doesn’t turn the conversation to a different topic first.

“Ellen is very important to you, isn’t she?” Marie looks askance at Kathryn, at this. “I noticed how carefully you chose your words, when you said anything about us”, Kathryn explains with a little shrug.

Marie exhales slowly, a long stream of foggy breath. “Well, the timing is… less than optimal, in a way, you know. Valentine’s Day, Carnival ahead, and she’s so heartbroken and I’m so… exuberant.” Kathryn nods her understanding with a small smile, and again, Marie puffs out a breath. “God, yes, she is important to me. I feel closer to her than to anybody else”, and when Marie looks at Kathryn to see how her words are received, her insecurity is plain, both in her voice and eyes, for the first time that Kathryn can remember. Again, Kathryn nods. Of course she understands. She knows that what’s between Marie and her doesn’t compare, can’t compete with such a long friendship, but still, somewhere deep inside, behind one of many closed doors, something aches. As if she’s seen it, Marie catches Kathryn’s arm and gently stops her, eyes intent.

“Kathryn, I… We’re close, Ellie and I. Closer than I ever thought friends could be; closer than some people think friends should be, especially when they know I’m gay and she’s not. But there’s nothing of that in our friendship. We just … helped each other through very trying times, and we grew so close because that was what we both needed then. We don’t need each other so much anymore, but the trust is still there, and I won’t relinquish it for anything. I trust her with everything I have, everything I am, and that is how important she is to me.” 

Her words are soft and deceptively simple, but that doesn’t diminish their impact, and Kathryn can feel her knees go weak. And again, as if she sees it, Marie catches her, both arms steady around Kathryn’s waist. Kathryn reaches up to run her arms around Marie’s neck, content to just hang on for a moment, trying to sort out how Marie’s words have affected her, ignoring just how much she’s opening up, softening, giving away.

“Please don’t be angry, or afraid”, Marie murmurs into Kathryn’s neck. “I think…” a sigh tickles the sensitive skin, “for what’s it worth, I think we could get to a similar place, too, given that sort of time. And there’s certainly room enough in my heart for…” Kathryn has to strain to hear the next words, and they make her shiver, soft though they are. “…quite a lot of love.” Too close to home, too much for comfort, the word ‘love’ echoes in her head as she tries to find words that will get past the lump in her throat.

“My sister helped me like that, once”, she tells Marie’s scarf. She can feel Marie’s head turn, and Marie’s breath begin to move her hair, and still, those arms hold her, solid and reassuring. “I lost my father and the man I loved, at the same time. It was an accident, and I was there, and I couldn’t save them, I couldn’t…” breathe deeply, now, and suddenly one of Marie’s hands starts to move, slowly, up and down in a rhythm that helps Kathryn keep those breaths from becoming sobs. “When I got home”, she goes on when she can, “I climbed into bed and didn’t get out again for months. Literally. Until Phoebe made me. Oh, I hated her for it, in the beginning. After a while, I knew what she’d done had been the right thing, and still another while later, I could accept it, too. But it hasn’t brought us closer, not the way you are with Ellen.”

“And how could it?” Those arms come up to her shoulders, compelling Kathryn to move back and look at Marie. “Kathryn, she’s your sister. That’s a completely different start, a completely different thing. And you’re you, I’m me, and Ellie is Ellie, and we all have different needs, so we all form different relationships to the people around us.” Marie heaves a sigh. Kathryn is amazed how quickly the younger woman is back to professionalism, until she figures that maybe Marie needs evasion, sometimes, too. “I… Kathryn”, Marie goes on, still matter-of-factly, “I don’t think a friendship like the one between Ellie and I would work for you, in a way, because independency is much more important to you than it is to her. And yet I can see the appeal that such closeness might have to someone so… autonomous like you are.”

“You do?” And why that ominous pause? 

Marie meets Kathryn’s eyes for a long moment. She seems to search for something in them, and when she turns away and they start walking again, Kathryn doesn’t know whether Marie’s found what she was looking for, and if she has, what she makes of it. Kathryn herself doesn’t have names or definitions for more than half the things on her mind right this instant, so how would someone else? Marie does take Kathryn’s hand, though, and falls into step with her.

“You’re apart. Aloof, in a way. I guess captains need to be, to function. I think, from what you’ve told me, you need it even more, because you’re alone there at the top, no one… I don’t know what you have above captains-“

“Admirals”, Kathryn supplies, grimacing. She can see where Marie’s going. 

“Thanks. No admirals, then, higher up, to turn to if things go pear-shaped.” Late as it is, there’s only the sound of their footsteps, rhythmic and predictable, quite a contrast to what’s going on inside Kathryn’s head. “And I think – correct me if I’m wrong, please – I think you feel you need to maintain that aloofness, need to be captain for your crew at all times. And yes, in a way, that’s what they need to function, too. I don’t… I can’t begin to imagine how it must feel to be cut off like that, for such a long time, and I’m sure it’s testament to your leadership as well as to your crew that you’ve come so far. And yet I can’t help asking myself how you manage to hold yourself apart like that all the time. I know you’ve tried to be the same way here, if it hadn’t been for the fact that we didn’t let you.”

“That _you_ didn’t let me, Marie.”

The younger woman shrugs. “I, we, same difference. What matters is that…” she breaks off. Kathryn doesn’t know what to say, either, as Marie’s words still circle in her head like a flock of birds, and so they walk in silence for long minutes. 

“I miss my crew”, Kathryn offers after a while. “I’m worried for them, even though Q has said he wouldn’t endanger them, that time has stopped for them for however long I’d be here. But when I’m with you, or your friends, I enjoy it so much. The laughter, the company. The ease of it all. And I…”

“…feel guilty about it.”

“Of course I do!” Kathryn’s free arm comes up, starts gesticulating quite by itself. “I haven’t eaten such familiar food so often, nor so well, in nearly seven years, and your coffee is far better than either Neelix’ substitute or whatever concoction the replicator decides to ply me with, and I’m laughing and seeing movies while I should be on my ship, getting all of us home.”

“I know how you feel.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Her words come out harshly, but Kathryn feels the harshness is justified. How on Earth does this… social worker, her junior by a goddamn decade, think she has experiences that relate to Kathryn’s in any meaningful way?

“Damnit, Kathryn, do you think my life, or my work, is a walk in the park?” Marie’s voice is indignant. “Granted, I don’t get shot at on a regular basis, or get abducted by omnipotent beings, but I’ve had tasks of my own to face, and wounds and worries up to here. And believe me, I know how it feels when you’re laughing, and suddenly realize that you shouldn’t, mustn’t, can’t be laughing. But laughing keeps me going, and I take comfort where I find it, because life seems pretty short of it, sometimes.” She falls silent again, and again, they walk on without talking. But all the while, Kathryn’s gloved hand sits snug in Marie’s, and she can’t find it in her to withdraw it.

“Kathryn”, Marie goes on suddenly, her voice far softer now. “I… I’m glad that you’ve found laughter here, company, for the time being. I know how hard it is on you to be stuck, and not to know how or when you’ll get back, not to know what you can do to speed up your return, or if you can, even. I’ll do what I can to help you, you know that.”

”I do.” It’s Kathryn’s turn to stop and draw Marie around to meet her eyes, now. “I know. Marie, I’m sorry.” Marie nods, but her eyes are distant, and her next words come out of the blue.

“For all the time on _Voyager_ , you’ve been in the thick of things, always on your toes, always in control, always responsible. And now you’ve been flung out of that carousel so thoroughly that your ears ring, right?”

This brings a wry smile onto Kathryn’s lips. “You do have a way with words.”

“Well maybe that’s your task, you know?”

“Getting better with words?” Her eyebrow comes up, too, and Marie rolls her eyes.

“Accepting that you’re not in charge. Letting go.” Marie takes Kathryn’s other hand, too, palm up, and opens both of them for her. Her touch is a caress rather than a grasp, and her fingers touch Kathryn’s lightly as settling butterflies, barely perceivable through the wool. Kathryn looks down at them for one, two breaths. They’re standing right beneath a streetlight, and the shadows on Marie’s face are harsh, and yet her voice, her touch, is so gentle. And her words so… The thought of leaving this behind-

“Come with me.” 

The blurted offer surprises her as much as it surprises Marie. “What? Wh- to… _Voyager_?!” the younger woman splutters, eyes wild behind her glasses. 

“I… Marie… ah…” Thoughts turning madly, Kathryn keeps her eyes on their entwined fingers. What had she been thinking? “We could use a talented counselor aboard _Voyager_ , you know.” As soon as she says them, she knows those words are a mistake.

“What?!” Marie snatches her hand back as if burned.

“Well, we lost our med-“

“Hell, Kathryn, don’t give me that!” Kathryn has never heard Marie yell like that, and the ringing silence that follows makes Kathryn realize how hard she’s hit her. “Do you realize what you’re asking, at all?” These words come out more softly, and somehow, that’s worse. And yes, Kathryn does realize, and still she can’t find words to express that, right now. The silence expands, fills with snowflakes, slowly drifting down.

“Leave behind my life, my friends… everything, to follow you to a starship millions of light years from home-“ 

“Thirty thousand”, Kathryn can’t help but murmur, and catches a glare for it. 

“For God’s sake”, Marie says through clenched teeth, “thirty thousand, then, with nothing to look forward to but years and years of travel through uncharted territory filled with hostile aliens, all because your crew needs a shrink?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Marie’s answering huff sounds so bitter that it cuts Kathryn to the quick, but then, that’s only fair, isn’t it, considering. Kathryn, looking down, can see Marie’s feet twitch, but the younger woman doesn’t turn nor walk away, and a wary gratitude slowly seeps into Kathryn, even though fear still claims pride of place in her stomach.

“I am sorry, Marie. I was wrong to presume you’d want to…” 

“Want to? Good heavens, Kathryn, I’ve dreamed about being on a starship ever since I read my first science fiction novel, and seeing Earth from space is one of my most cherished dreams. It’s not that I don’t _want_ to, don’t you realize?”

“Well… uh… then why-” Kathryn breaks off, her eyes narrowing. If Marie didn’t… she swallows dryly. She’s left herself wide open, offering what she has, and even though she can acknowledge that, even though she’s searching Marie’s eyes and thinks she sees something in them, there’s no way she could ever have anticipated Marie’s next words, so soft, so patient, so terrible. 

“I’d come for a different reason, Kathryn.” 

The words freeze her. After a few seconds, Kathryn realizes that her ears are ringing, and Marie is looking at her, patient still, eyes full of… what? She starts shaking her head, her eyes never leaving Marie’s. When Marie leans forward, the kiss is tender and light, soft as the snowflakes falling still, but that’s just a ruse, a cloaking device, and its message sears itself into Kathryn’s heart. They break apart, and still Kathryn can’t do anything but look at Marie mutely. Good heavens, she’s even _seen_ the look in Marie’s eyes change before that declaration, has seen the thought process, much more pronounced than anything that had preceded her own outburst. Realization, reflection, decision. Marie is seeing Kathryn’s impulse and raises her an offer of her own, an offer that is slowly unfolding into something vast and dark, and Kathryn stares right into it.

‘I’d come for a different reason, Kathryn.’ Kathryn dimly realizes that the simple statement, and the look in Marie’s eyes, have added themselves to a number of things that will stay with her until the end of her days. Like an array exploding on her orders. Like a door opening to an empty cargo bay. Like a crew standing on her bridge, defying her command to leave her behind. Her crew has come to trust her, over months that became years, but she’s been here for all of three weeks, and Marie… 

“No… You-”, she breathes slowly. “But… no, you can’t… I…” Marie just looks at her, mutely, patiently. “I can’t ask… Marie. Oh, Marie.”

* * *

It’s Kathryn who finally turns and resumes walking, unable to meet my eyes any longer, leaving me to stand and watch her back, my own words still ringing in my ears. Wrapped as she is in my too-long, too-large winter coat, her hunched shoulders are lost, and somehow, that only accentuates her vulnerability. Shaking myself free of my thoughts, I head after her quickly, trying not to slip in the slurry mixture of old and new snow. 

I feel curiously detached, somehow. This conversation might very well change my life forever, and I’m completely not sure I really grasp the immenseness of going where… where she’s told me _Voyager_ is. ‘Delta Quadrant’, I suddenly remember her telling me in her gravelly voice, ‘basically the other side of the galaxy.’ I catch up with her in time to see her turn. There are tears on her face, heavens help me, but she’s dashing them off with two quick, impatient flicks of her right. We're standing between two streetlights now, with both our faces in shadows, hers even more so for the hand she’s raised to her forehead. She does that, I’ve noticed, adds bulk to her smallness with hands stemmed into her side, or up inside a doorframe, or next to her face, like now. I wouldn’t put it past her to be doing it on purpose; captains have to pull their weight in any way they can, after all, and small and slender captains even more so, I guess. I can’t help wondering if this, too, has become so ingrained by now that she doesn’t even notice doing it anymore. 

“Marie, you’re… you… I don’t know why I said that, to be honest with you. Don’t get me wrong, please”, she adds quickly, touching my jaw for a fleeting second before her hand is back on her hairline again, then travels down to cover her mouth, then her cheek with slender, wool-clad fingers. “I… God. I’ve been trying to get everyone home, back to Earth; I’m not used to asking someone to leave Earth and come with me to _Voyager_ , you understand?” She tries to smile and fails, and I just nod mutely. Truth to tell, I just don’t know what to say. “I… this has grown on me, you, the girls, all of this. I feel so guilty for enjoying your company, but I do enjoy it, and then I realized that when I return, I’d… you wouldn’t… I didn’t think about it, I just blurted it out, and you looked so shocked, so I tried to think of a reason, I suppose. Tried to rationalize a completely unrefined, raw impulse of a notion.”

I laugh, suddenly, just the one laugh but I can’t help it, the thought that hits me at her words is just too absurd. She narrows her eyes again, and I quickly explain. “If your task has been getting good with words, this Q should be turning up any minute now. We could ask him, too, if he’d even think about taking two of us back, instead of only you.” 

“Oh, I’d make him, don’t you fear.” She stares at me as a taxi passes, white lights on her face, then red lights in my eyes, then the shadows descend again. She clears her throat and drops her eyes. “If you want to, that is.”

“You still haven’t given me a reason to.” I can’t help it. I try to keep my tone gentle, at least, but nevertheless, my voice trembles a bit. So I _have_ been content with not saying some words out loud, but this, _this_ is too big, too far-reaching to leave things unspoken. Still, my words startle her, get her eyes up again. So many emotions in them. Surprise, hurt, longing. Hope. Sadness, suddenly, and immense loneliness. And then her curtains fall once more, guarding her emotions behind a carefully composed expression of neutrality. 

“Do you know the expression ‘fraternization’?” 

My lips move silently. “‘Making someone a brother?’” I frown, trying to understand this new tangent.

“Social workers study Latin?” At least she takes my arm, this time, as she turns and starts to walk again.

“Grammar school students study Latin, at least this one did”, I shrug as I fall into step with her. “What does it mean?”

“The term is used to describe formation of a close relationship between people who shouldn’t, for one reason or another, usually in a military context.” Ah yes. ‘Remember This’, and pictures of Wehrmacht atrocities. Movies, and booklets, and Besatzungskinder. Suddenly, cold spreads through me as I realize where this is leading. She’s rationalizing us away, isn’t she? Her next words confirm my thoughts. “Rules of non-fraternization are commonplace, necessary in fact, to uphold authority in the chain of command, especially in enclosed environments.”

“Like starships.” I’m amazed that the chill in my stomach hasn’t spread to my voice.

“Like starships”, she nods, her eyes firmly on the pavement in front of our feet. 

“So you’re worried that if I come with you, your having a relationship will undermine your authority as captain?” Still, my voice is emotionless. I do understand the principle behind this, really, the psychology is simple enough.

“Starfleet doesn’t exactly forbid such relationships anymore-” Hell, but she could be giving a lecture, to judge by the tone of her voice and the gestures of her hand. “-and I’ve decided years ago that I won’t deny them to my crew, but I’m the captain, and even though we’re no longer that far away from Starfleet Command with the possibilities of communicating through Project Pathfinder, I still need to maintain my authority.”

“By denying you’re human?” I can’t help it, even though, again, I understand the reasoning. But understanding and reason don’t prevent that it hurts, and at least anger is warming my insides now. 

“Damnit, Marie!” Hers, too, apparently. At least she doesn’t withdraw her arm as she stops and turns to me once more. But oh, how she glares at me. “I’ve worked hard, we all worked hard, to make it this far, to be one crew, _a_ crew instead of two or even more fractions. It has cost all of us a great deal. And I don’t intend to belittle my crew’s sacrifices by…” she stops short.

“By what, Kathryn? By giving in to your impulses? By thinking of yourself for once? Do you propose to spend the rest of your life very nobly being what your crew needs you to be, instead of being yourself? What about _your_ sacrifices?” It’s a torrent that breaks out of me, and in an old, old direction, too. Self-negation, the women’s bane. And yes, even though I can understand why she does it, I don’t like it one bit. In a softer voice, I add, “what about your needs?”

“My needs are beside the point!”

“And how would you react if one of your crewmembers told you that?”

This makes her think, at last. She frowns, opens her mouth, closes it again. Exhales, so sharply that a few snowflakes change course. “Marie, I told you. I’m not a crewmember. I’m the captain.”

“And being the captain allows you to neglect your needs?” Again, we turn. Again, we start walking. At this rate, it’ll be dawn before we’re home.

“My duties, my responsibilities to my crew, come before my needs. They have to. Surely you can-“

“Yes, I can see that. Of course I see that.” I sigh. “How long have you been in the Delta Quadrant? Seven years?”

“Almost.”

“So that’s _almost_ ”, I tilt my head slightly to put ironic stress on the word, “seven years’ worth of putting other people’s needs before yours.”

“If you’re telling me I’m entitled, I swear I’ll stop listening.” Her voice is clipped again, her words precise. My new change of direction probably has her worried, I guess.

“I wasn’t going to. Nothing entitles you to anything in life, because life isn’t fair, and the universe isn’t fair, and it’s certainly not fair that it’s made you bear all this. No, this isn’t about being entitled, and we both know it. But I understand, you know.”

“What is it you understand?” Her head is askew, her eyes narrow, focused. Perplexed, with a side order of suspicious. Part of me marvels at the direction our night has taken. Another part of me realizes she isn’t through with introspection, far from it, and that my hunch from yesterday, about tasks, and masks, is probably quite to the point. I debate whether I should withdraw my arm, but refrain from doing so. I don’t want to be too confrontational, considering where I’m going with my line of thought. I need to get there in a way that doesn’t raise her suspicion, either, so I decide to be roundabout.

“Well, your crew’s a group, and groups have dynamics, and roles. Change someone’s role, you change the dynamics. Change enough roles, or one big enough role, you change the group. Add a newcomer, everything’s shaken up. Very basic.” 

“Command Psychology, Class One, yes. So where does that leave us?” she snaps, definitely out of her depth right now, with no idea where I’m going.

“People don’t like when things are being shaken up. Things change when they get shaken up. But roles and dynamics have their inertia – the more important the role, the bigger the shake-up you need to change it, and the bigger the potential for harm. I realize that’s scary.” 

“Scary?” Her frown deepens. “If this is a try to dare me into anything…”

“Oh, no. No, I’m just saying that I understand, nothing more, nothing less.” 

“Marie, where are you going with this?”

“I’m not going anywhere, I guess, because it really is quite logical for me to remain where I am.” Passive aggressiveness is certainly no method of mine, but still, hell, I’m angry. Angry at everything, at her, at myself, too. We both fall silent. Despite the snow, still falling softly, the night feels gloomy to me. Neither of us is able to look at the other, we’re both intent on studying the street instead.

“Tom and B’Elanna have married, and B’Elanna is with child, you know.” The loneliness I’ve seen in Kathryn’s eyes before is in her voice now, and when I dare to look at her, her eyes are far away. I don’t have the slightest idea who she’s talking about, but – patience. “We still have almost twenty-five years to go, to reach home, according to our calculations. Their child, and Naomi, and every other kid born on _Voyager_ will grow up on the ship, will have their first romance on the ship, their first heart-break on the ship.” She sighs, and I wouldn’t interrupt her for the world. It sounds like she’s working towards where I want to take us on her own; I’m not going to stop her. Sometimes, patience pays off quickly.

“In the beginning we even considered the necessity to procreate, because we’d estimated it would take us about seventy-five years to get home. Who would crew _Voyager_ when her original crew became too old, you see?” I nod, and she goes on. “I took every short-cut I saw, I cheated and wheedled and bent the rules and used what means I could, short of selling out on my ideals, and now it’s a real possibility that I’ll see Earth, _my_ Earth again in my lifetime, and not on my death-bed. I’d give anything to that end, and my crew knows that. Just as they know I would never leave anyone behind.” She meets my eyes at last, and I’m struck by something she’s said, days ago.

“That’s why you were so sure they wouldn’t leave you behind, right?” 

She nods, eyes suddenly far away and full. Then they return, to here, to me. “And you said it sounded too romantic for a professional mission.” It’s my turn to nod, this time. “And you were right, in a way. It’s a mission, still, but we left being professionals far behind. We’ve grown into something more than just a crew of professionals. We’re family, all of us.” 

I nod and look down, unable to meet her eyes any longer. Again, the dynamic behind that is simple. But it’s pulling at me. Me, with my own personal non-relationship to my family. Then I think of Ellie, and the girls, and the pull eases a little. I can even chuckle. “Family, huh? Sounds like a counselor is a pretty good idea, in fact.”

She regards me silently for a moment, and I smile lopsidedly at my feet. “Personal experience?” she asks softly, and I don’t think I can meet her eyes, not when this softness is in them, too.

“Ask Ellie to tell you about her parents, some day.” I dare to look up, to watch her file this away, hoping she’ll respect my evasion. She does – keeps her silence, even if the understanding in her eyes is hurting me. I search for something to say that’s not so painful. “So, if your crew is family, you’d be…” I leave the sentence hanging.

“Don’t start. Captain Coffee Bean is bad enough; I’m not having you call me Captain Mother Hen or something similarly inane.”

I hadn’t even thought about that, but oh, what a gift. I grin. “Thanks.”

“Damn.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Again, we walk in silence for a few minutes. She’s rearranging our arms so that we’re more closely linked, and I wonder whether she’s cold. My insides, at least, are warming slightly at her movements and the intention I will into them.

“We might not even work out, you know”, I say after a while. Lightly, just spouting a theory. “And then what would I do?”

“You’d be stuck in the Delta Quadrant. Not too bad a fate, considering.” She can do light, too, apparently, and when she smiles at me and I smile back, I guess it’s reassurance for both of us.

“And as the former Captain’s Woman, no less.” This elicits a snort. “No, really, if ‘Captain’ is a dashing title, ‘the Captain’s Woman’ has a bit of glitz, too, hasn’t it?”

“It’s a bit too possessive, in my opinion.”

“Well, I _was_ hoping you wouldn’t want to share, so a little possessiveness is in order, I think.”

“Share? I never share. It’s why I got along so well with Molly.”

“Molly?” 

“My dog, back on Earth. She wouldn’t share, either. She was so protective of me, so jealous of Mark.”

“And Mark was your…”

“Fiancé. We were engaged to be married”, Kathryn explains at my quizzical look.

“Nice word.”

“Nice man.” Her voice is sincere and without the slightest hint of rancor, and I’m intrigued despite myself, about him, and her use of the past tense.

“What happened?”

“He held out for me. Hoped that I would return, for years. When he didn’t hear from me, he eventually let go, found someone, married her.”

Not the one who died, then, in all probability. I file the information away. “How do you know?”

“I got a letter from him a few years ago, when we found a way to contact Earth.”

“Ouch.”

“Indeed. But you know”, the words come out in a sigh, “in a way it was a good thing, too.”

“Because it cut you loose from him.” 

She turns her head sharply to look at me. Then her shoulders relax a little. “You’re right. It did.”

“To enter another relationship that’s lasted for all this time, and that you’ve kept from me all these weeks.” My voice is lightly ironic, still she glares at me. I grow serious at once. “Did I hit too close to home?”

“Is a month too close?”

I stop and stare. Gape, really. “You were in a relationship until a month ago?” Now that is unexpected.

“It was a short thing, but… I was very close to him. Very close. Even if I was brainwashed at the time.” Kathryn huffs a laugh, and its bitterness tears at me. “With my memories back, there was no way I could have continued seeing him. I left him because inviting him to the ship would have been… fraternization.”

“Ouch, again.” But my voice is far less bitter than hers. I take her arm again, and we resume walking.

“How can you take that so calmly?”

“Well, at least you’re consistent. I like that.” Ignoring her punch to my elbow, I stretch out my legs. I know she can match my speed, her ankle is well healed by now, and we do need to speed up to get home at a reasonable hour – it’s still quite a bit to go. “And it’s not as if we were sure you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Could you do that? Go on with this, on a day-to-day base?” Her tone says she couldn’t. Ah well.

“Taking one day after another without thinking too much about tomorrow has its appeals, don’t you think? And happiness is where you find it.”

“Happiness?” The catch in her voice is sweet, but there’s something darker in there, too. I guess it’s the same thing I heard in her voice when I told her my heart was big enough for… well, what I’d _meant_ was that my friendship with Ellie didn’t take away from what I feel for Kathryn, at least not in my book, but I guess what I said did contain the word ‘love’, and I guess it hit her, as the word ‘happiness’ has hit her now.

“It’s possible, even if you have to tune out your concerns and regrets sometimes”, I tell her quietly.

“Doesn’t sound very responsible.” And isn’t it like her to punch on _that_ part of it?

“You know, I think the first responsibility someone has is the one to oneself.” I can feel her tense again, and I have to choose my words carefully. This statement sounds so selfish, and yet that’s the last thing I am. She doesn’t know me that well yet, but this is the core of my belief, and she has to understand. “Don’t get me wrong, please: I do care for other people, very much so in fact, and this also means I feel responsible for how I interact with them, and I take that very, very seriously.” I look at her, trying to judge if she understood that part before going on to the next. She nods slowly. 

“But I don’t expect anyone to feel responsible for my needs, you know”, I go on, “in my book, I’m the one, the only one, answerable for them. I do like it if someone chooses to respect my wishes, but I don’t really expect them to, and I don’t see how I could, either, you see?” She nods again, a little more assured now. “So. I feel responsible for my needs, and responsible not to neglect other people’s wants. So what happens if the two clash, if considering someone else’s needs means neglecting mine?” I pause again, and she, too, is silent. For a few moments, only our footsteps in the slushy snow can be heard. This is the crux of the matter, isn’t it? “When I choose to neglect my needs in order to care for someone else’s, because I consider them more important than mine at that point, still I’m serving my responsibility towards myself, you see? Because I wouldn’t like to live with the memory of having chosen differently.” 

Her breathing is measured as she keeps up with my longer steps. A little too measured, perhaps; bordering on deliberately calm. I guess she’s understood what I was trying to get across to her. Hell, I directed her to books of mine, to make her see. Choices, and responsibility, and why you should expect nothing but the best of yourself, and nothing at all of other people. You can hope, yes; you might even wish, yes, but don’t expect. It’s presumptuous and, almost always, too painful.

“I want this. I want us. And yes, I’m aware that you might be gone tomorrow”, I go on softly “and of all the other things. And yes, the prospect hurts. But I’ve read once that you steal the now of your life away, when you constantly fear what tomorrow will bring. And I like the now of my life right now. I refuse to let it be stolen. And that”, I put emphasis on the word, “is _my_ need right now. You. Us. This.”

“But it hurts precisely because you jumped into this, disregarding the consequences.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

Perceptive, and on the mark. “I jumped into this because I wanted to. I expected it to hurt. But I knew I could handle that pain. And I wouldn’t choose differently.” I take a deep breath, stop the two of us, turn to her. Meet her eyes squarely, openly. Intently. “The alternative to jumping would be… flat. Solid, stolid, boring, safe. That’s not what I want from my life. If that means loving a starship captain for as long as she’s here, then that is what I choose to do. And I’ll be the only one in the world who the stars will laugh for, because of you.” Kathryn suddenly, and for the second time since we left Ellie’s place, fails at keeping her composure, reaches out with a small, wild sound, out and up and for my jaw in one jerky movement, and even if this kiss is more passionate than our last one, it’s not a kiss that leads to passionate things, but a search, a question, a tentative reaching, and I pour all my conviction in it, all my hope, all my confidence.

* * *

When they break apart, Kathryn’s eyes search Marie’s. “You’re fearless.”

Marie snorts a laugh, truly amused by the sound of her voice. “Oh, certainly not. I fear a lot of things. But this is how I want to be; I don’t think that’s fearlessness. Confidence, if anything, that this is the right way for me. I mean, nothing has happened to change my mind.” 

“Yet.”

“You mean this?” The younger woman hesitates a moment. “However we define ‘this’, I mean.” 

Kathryn nods, and Marie laughs again, softly, and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose in a gesture that’s already so very familiar. “Oh, no, Kathryn. No. This isn’t going to change my mind. My life, maybe”, and Kathryn marvels how Marie can say those words so simply, despite the vastness of their meaning. Doesn’t she see the importance, the momentousness? Can she really simply shrug it away like this?

“But you do understand…”

“Understand that, and why, you’re hesitating, why you talk about fraternization? Yes. I would have understood if you’d withdrawn much earlier, frankly, or if you’d never have let me start this. I’d even understand if you’d decide to stop this, us, right now; I wouldn’t like it, not one bit, but I’d understand. I’m very good at understanding, you know. But.”

“But?” Kathryn’s head is swimming. She’s barely finished blinking away the tears Marie’s allusion to the Little Prince has brought, and Marie’s words, with all their casualness, all their impact, are raining down on her like-

“Who are you?” Marie’s question is so quick, and so completely unexpected, that Kathryn answers automatically. 

“Captain Kathryn Janeway.” It’s out before she can bite it off, and immediately, Marie’s eyes darken with… Kathryn can’t decide. Sadness? Pain? 

“No you aren’t.” Marie’s answer is as quick as her question has been.

“I beg your pardon?”

Marie’s eyes are soft, as is her voice. “Kathryn, you’re as far away from your ship as you can possibly be. There’s no crew here, either. Nothing, _no one_ , for you to captain.”

Her words ring in Kathryn’s ears, and part of her wants to insist that still, and always, she’s… but that is exactly it, isn’t it. Very basic, indeed. 

“Daughter, sister. Friend. Schoolmate, student, tutor. Confidante. Patient, diplomat, trader, helper.” Marie’s voice is calm, and her eyes on Kathryn’s equally so as the younger woman continues the list. “Lover. Captain.” 

“Among other roles, you mean.” Kathryn can’t keep her resentment out of her voice. Why does it feel like betrayal, to think of it this way? 

“Roles”, Marie says, and the look in her eyes asks Kathryn to – what? Think of something? Say something? Explain herself? When Kathryn doesn’t make a move to do any of these things, Marie starts to walk again. “I’m stuck with one, you know?” she says lightly.

“What, knight in shining armor?” Why is Marie changing the subject, now? And why is it easier to lash out than to bite back those words? Kathryn knows they’ll hurt. Turning with Marie, walking with her, is the least Kathryn can do, but in a way, it’s all she can do, too.

“Daughter”, Marie goes on in an even voice, as if Kathryn hadn’t said anything at all. “Though not in the sense that I’ll always be my parents’ child, that’s not what I mean.” A silent sigh. “My parents don’t know me, you know. I’ve played a role with them since I was… oh, sixteen, fifteen, I don’t remember.”

Despite herself, Kathryn feels curious. “Why?”

“They were… so unlike me. Their values. Not what I wanted for myself.” Marie shrugs and huffs out a breath. “Of course, that’s what all teenagers go through, in a way. But I… my reaction was different, I think. Instead of fighting, or conceding, I cut them out. Of my feelings, my thoughts, my inner workings. They haven’t known what I’m feeling for years now, I guess. Oh, I talk to them on the phone, and I visit, and things seem quite normal then. I’m a good actress, I suppose.” Another shrug.

Again Kathryn has to ask. “Why? What could lead to such…”

“Alienation?” A hint of her usual sense of humor is in Marie’s voice for the one word, then it becomes darkly serious again. “I can’t even really say, you know. It’s not that they don’t accept I’m gay; they do, it’s never been an issue. But they’re so concerned with safety, you know? Material security, conservative values… my choice of profession still rankles, I know that. They wished”, and the word come out positively venomous, “for me to make more of myself, you see. Law, medicine, something like that.” A sigh. “Pearls before swine, they actually called it once. I don’t think they ever realized that with choosing _this_ path, I’ve made more of myself in a number of ways that have nothing to do with academic achievement, or job opportunities, or money, but that are infinitely more important to me.”

“I see what you mean.” 

“Do you now.” The look on Marie’s face conveys old, old pain, and curiosity, then the younger woman buries her face in her coat’s collar. Apparently, what she’s seen in Kathryn’s eyes suffices as an answer. “So when you asked me to come with you, I thought about how it would feel to leave, you know? How it would feel to go with you and know that they never knew me, that they never will.” 

“Why don’t you tell them?”

Kathryn has to strain to hear the next words over the sounds of their footfalls. “I… can’t even say I can’t, can I? I just have to pick up the phone and be honest.” Marie heaves another sigh. “You know, I’m pretty certain, even, that I’m strong enough to do it.” A pause, and then, deceptively matter-of-fact, “I guess I don’t want to, in a way.”

“You don’t want to? But they’re your parents!” And Kathryn thinks of her mother, and sister, and how a letter once a month isn’t enough, won’t ever be enough until she sees them again. 

“Yes. But they aren’t worth the bother, to me. And they’ve never asked. They’ve never asked what I was thinking, what I was feeling. Maybe they believe my acting, or maybe they don’t. Maybe they realize; maybe they even want to get to know me. I don’t know – they don’t ask, and they don’t tell me. I guess all of us are stuck in this, in a way.” There’s a bitter twist around Marie’s mouth, and tears in her eyes, but then she shrugs and goes on, eyes still on the pavement. “I’ve never believed in all this ‘blood is thicker than water’ stuff anyway, you know. Family isn’t something that just happens because you share a name, or ancestry. Family is something that you do, family is when you care.”

“Care enough to not allow such façades to develop.”

“Yes!” The affirmation is fierce, as are Marie’s eyes, tears or no tears. “Care enough not to want people to hide behind them, to draw people out from behind them if they’re stuck.” And both voice and eyes hold something else now, too, as Marie’s gaze locks onto Kathryn’s face intently.

Kathryn tilts her head, narrows her eyes, but it would be selfish to voice her suspicion that it had been about her, not Marie, wouldn’t it? Or would it? _Marie’s_ role, _Marie’s_ family, and yet… A corner of Marie’s mouth comes up. Then the younger woman tilts her head in a silent question, and somehow, and in the very best way, it reminds Kathryn of how her father used to challenge her when she was small, to make her figure things out for herself. 

“This wasn’t about _your_ family, was it.” It’s a statement, not a question, and right on target, too, if the way Marie’s smile deepens is anything to go by.

“Not just about my family, no.”

“Is everything you do so devious?” 

“Devious. I like that. But no. I’m very single-minded, actually.”

“Single-minded.”

“Oh, yes. I knew where I was going, every step of the way.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know.”

“I certainly hope so. Even if I’d only tried for unexpected.” Marie’s face is softer than her usual teasing smile, though.

“You mean you exposed yourself like this on purpose, just to get a point across?”

“Exposed myself?”

“Marie, you cried. No one would be unaffected if their relationship to their parents were like this, but I don’t think a lot of people would let someone else see that so readily.” Stopping once more, Kathryn takes off one glove and touches Marie’s wet face. Fearless, indeed. Brushing a tear away with her thumb, she realizes something else. “This is what you meant, isn’t it, when you said how you’ve developed.”

Again, Marie tips her head a little. “My small, admittedly subjective, admittedly not always successful forays into the human equation.” She removes her own glove, holds Kathryn’s hand to her face for a heartbeat, breathes a kiss onto Kathryn’s fingertips, and intertwines their fingers. Holding on tightly, she thrusts them into her pocket for warmth, and that’s the way they walk home.

~~~

It takes them until breakfast to get back to where they left off yesterday. Marie has taken the day off, the whole week, in fact, for Carnival lasts until next Wednesday, as Kathryn has learned. Even at the best of times, Kathryn isn’t much of a morning person, and Marie’s too solicitous of that to engage her in small talk, so they never talk much over buns and coffee in any case, but today, Kathryn’s quiet for a completely different reason. Movement in the corner of her eyes alerts her to a raised coffee pot and an expectant look of Marie’s, and she vaguely remembers a question. In a fraction of a second, she extrapolates, ponders odds, decides, nods. She does look up more attentively when, instead of pouring, Marie puts the pot down, sits back, crosses her arms and sighs. 

“Alright. Shoot.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your questions are drowning your answers, and you just nodded when I asked you whether you wanted some milk with your next cup of coffee. So spill it.”

Kathryn hesitates. Truth to tell, she isn’t really sure what’s going on inside her; it’s a madhouse of thoughts, hopes, feelings, worries. Lots of clamoring behind closed doors. 

“I shouldn’t have said… I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me.” 

“Ah, but you did. And I’m glad you did, you know? This day-to-day business is all well and good, but your offer shook that up tremendously, and now we have to face some questions. And I think that’s a good thing.”

“Because it forces us to look at things from different angles?” When Marie nods, Kathryn goes on, “I don’t like the words ‘what if’. They’re dangerous.”

“They are, but they can also be useful at times.” Again, Marie falls silent. Then she does pour another cup of coffee, black, of course. “I mean, look at you. There’s a whole bunch of ‘what if’s right here.”

“What if I’m back on _Voyager_ tomorrow?” 

A small huff of a laugh. “That would be one, yes. Or, what if it takes a year, or ten, for you to get back? What if you can’t convince Q to take you back again at all?”

Kathryn makes a noise at the back of her throat.

“The ‘what if’ game isn’t just any picnic”, Marie says with a smile.

“You define spending more time with you as no picnic?”

“Yes, because you lack something, here.”

“Being on _Voyager_.”

“Close.”

“Is this a guessing game now?” Kathryn realizes she sounds weary and wary at the same time, but she wants to head that off right away. She hates guessing games; they try her patience too much. 

Thankfully, Marie decides for a plain approach. “Being _Voyager’s_ captain”, she shrugs.

“But-” Back to this again, then, and Kathryn doesn’t much like that, either. It cut too close, yesterday.

“Kathryn, it took me less than an hour to call you Captain, if you will remember.”

Kathryn narrows her eyes. She does. “But you were joking then.”

“Still I was right.”

“So why is that important? Of course I miss being captain. It’s a tough job, yes, and yes, I grant you, it’s lonely sometimes, but it has its advantages, you know.” It’s true. The view from her ready room, for one thing. Her tub. Her not needing to talk about things she doesn’t want to talk about.

“Oh, I guess so, and of course a ship needs a captain.” Kathryn suspects there’s more coming; Marie wouldn’t say this so easily if she didn’t have something up her sleeve. Nevertheless, Marie’s next words hit her like a horde of rampant targs. “And of course, ‘Captain’ hasn’t become the sole definition of Kathryn Janeway, isn’t a role that you’re stuck in, a persona, a mask so all-encompassing that you can’t get it off anymore.” Again, there’s a protest hovering on Kathryn’s lips but, again, it refuses to come out.

“Twenty-five more years as a persona, Kathryn?” 

Marie’s voice is soft, but her words are relentless, and Kathryn knows there are dozens of good arguments why Marie’s wrong, but they, too, are hovering just out of reach, for some reason. Her eyes flick this way and that, table, coffee cup, buns, the chocolate spread Marie’s so partial to. Sink into her coffee cup for a few heartbeats. Suddenly realizing something, she laughs. “They’ve covered this in the command courses at the Academy, you know. Roles and role distance. Fraternization and the reasons why you should refrain from it were part of that course, as well.”

Marie raises her eyebrows, then nods. “Sounds the right place, too. It is just mixing up roles, after all.”

“You toss that off so lightly.”

“Oh, I’m aware of the dangers, I assure you. Take Ellie.” This mystifies Kathryn for a second. “If there had ever been anything in the way of sexual attraction in my behavior towards her”, Marie explains, “we wouldn’t be where we are today. I’ve taken several roles vis-à-vis her over the years, but never one with sexual connotations, not even close.” Of course. Kathryn nods her understanding. “So yes, I do understand the need for regulations to help with telling roles apart. But tell me. Are there regulations to help with telling a role apart from the person?”

That question is easy enough to answer. “No.” Kathryn sighs. “The courses cover the danger, though, especially for deep-space missions, and usually a ship on such a mission would have a counselor onboard precisely because of that.”

“And _Voyager_ didn’t.”

“We were never supposed to go long-term”, Kathryn tries not to flare up, tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Truly, no one ever said the universe was fair. “Doctor Fitzgerald had extensive psychological training on top of his medical degree, but he was killed when we were thrown into the Delta Quadrant.”

“So what have you been doing all the time?”

Kathryn is tempted to talk about how Neelix appointed himself morale officer, and how Chakotay deals with crew grievances and personnel efficiency as part of his first officer’s duties, but she’s quite certain that that’s not where Marie is heading, now, and she also suspects that Marie’s course is true. Much more than pennies or pounds, she’s in over her head now, so she might as well fly straight, and best speed ahead.

“Retreated behind my captain’s mask, I guess. Chakotay has been pushing me more and more to take better care of myself, to be honest. He saw what I was doing, far more clearly than I did, I suspect.” _And it took your being brainwashed to follow his advice, didn’t it?_ And what if his pushing had a more… personal reason? What if it hadn’t been a push at all, but a pull? Kathryn shakes her head. ‘What if’ certainly is a dangerous business. 

“It’s not the sort of thing that’s easy to see for yourself.” Marie’s tone of voice is perfect. The statement could have been patronizing, or excusing, but Marie keeps the words completely free of judgment, and Kathryn can’t help wishing… but, no. Still, she laughs out loud. 

“Hm?”

“Oh, I just thought that if my previous experiences of counseling had been anything like this I wouldn’t have found them so irritating – but then I realized we’re essentially straight out of bed, and I doubt that mellowing a patient with good-morning sex before you start the soul-searching will become standard counseling practice anytime soon.” They’re both laughing before she stops speaking, and when Marie kisses her again, and Kathryn realizes that the younger woman means to pursue the good-morning sex rather than the soul-searching, she’s very happy to accommodate.

* * *

The taste of coffee, much more appealing now than it ever was, is still on my lips. Somehow, Kathryn always tastes of coffee, no matter what the time of day, no matter what she’s had to drink. She’s on her side now, eyes towards the window, back towards me, my arm under her neck, my other hand stroking her side lightly. Winter sunlight floods my bedroom, warms us both, and her hair looks amazingly alive in it. I could spend my life away, looking at it, stroking it, having it fan out on my- I stop that thought, but smile to myself. I guess I’m amazingly alive, too. I haven’t felt that way for a long time, not since… well, ever. Oh, I’m no nun, certainly, and I’ve had relationships, too, but not one of them has been this… alive. And yet. For all my vivaciousness, for all the light upon us, the moment is tense, and it’s certainly not about me, but about her.

“I’m sorry”, she says suddenly.

“It’s alright”, I say lightly, but really, it’s not out of the blue, her apology. Her eyes have said as much before she turned away, have spoken eloquently of remorse, and, in how their curtain fell immediately afterwards, of discomfort, too, and an attempt to hide her pain. But even if she’s still able to empty her eyes of emotions, lying naked next to me, the fact that she does so as such speaks to me, as do her hunched shoulders and tense muscles. I continue my light strokes, notice how she shivers and relaxes, involuntarily, I guess.

“I don’t even know why…“ She falls silent.

“Too much on your mind to be able let go. I know that feeling, too.”

“You?” She sounds incredulous, and I relent. 

“Well, not in that it keeps me from orgasm, but in other ways, believe me.” She huffs, but softens a little, so that her back conforms to my front more snugly. I put my arm over her waist, run my hand up the soft hairs on her forearm. When I’m up at her hand, our fingers intertwine almost automatically. 

“It’s not… it wasn’t-”

“Oh, please don’t tell me it wasn’t my fault.” I kiss her ear with a slight smack. “Kathryn, I _know_ you wanted, and couldn’t. I know you that well, at least. But for all the experimenting we’ve done, I know, too, that I’m nowhere near graduating.”

“Uh…” she sounds insecure.

“Maybe in a few months I can make you come even if you’re too preoccupied”, I elaborate, and chuckle when she harrumphs, trying to sound scandalized. “But we’re not there-” I hesitate, but feel safe enough to add, “yet.”

She’s quiet for a long time, and her breaths are too measured. I know she’s crying, but since I don’t like platitudes like ‘hush’ or ‘it’s alright’, I keep my quiet, and my arms around her. My cheek is on her ear, still, and my breath moves the very, very soft fuzz just below it, and I know she knows I’m there. By now I think she’d seek my help, or comfort, or whatever, if she needed it, and since she doesn’t, I don’t press it on her. I’ve never felt so confident in a budding relationship, and, at least to myself, I do define this as such. Hell, I’ve never felt so confident in any relationship, budding or in full flower.

I like her self-assurance. It balances mine, which can be insufferably grandiose, I do know that. And it thrills me. Thrills me that neither of us is intimidated by the other, for whatever reason. Augenhöhe is the German word for it; ‘equal footing’ its nearest equivalent, I think. Not that I see much reason to put me on a pedestal, far from it. I’m lazy, unbearably smart-aleck at times, and there’s heaps of things I’m not good at, or can’t do at all. On the other hand, yes, alright, I am quick enough for a little laziness, but hell, so is she; quick, I mean – certainly not lazy, not at all. Oh, and I guess she’s right in calling me fearless. Fearlessly honest, absolutely. Fearlessly curious, hell, yes. Fearlessly optimistic – that’s me. Which is why Kathryn’s offer still hangs tauntingly in front of my eyes, as does my reply to it.

Heavens help me, but I would come with her. I would totally and completely leave this life behind, even if leaving Ellie would leave me raw. Ellie, who doesn’t like her life at all just now. Ellie, who works at the same place her now-ex-boyfriend does, and who’ll sit opposite him every day until he or she finds a new job. Ellie, who’s maybe interested in a completely different universe, too? Would she like life aboard a starship? Would she like the people there, would they like her? Would they like me?

“A penny”, Kathryn murmurs suddenly. There is no trace of tears in her voice, but she does reach for the box of tissues on the bedside table. Still, she’s chosen to change the subject, and I’ll go with that.

“For my thoughts?” I ask her when she’s through with blowing her nose. She’s propped up on one elbow, stays up to toss the sodden ball into the wastebasket under the pull-down desk – she never misses, and teases me mercilessly on my bad hand-eye coordination whenever I do, which is pretty much always – snuggles close to me again, now on her back and looking upwards.

“M-hm.”

“Idle speculation”, I tell her. 

“Come on, Marie, that’s hardly a penny’s worth.”

“I’m wondering how I’d fit into your family.” 

Both her eyebrows come up, but she continues to regard the ceiling. “It’d be difficult.”

“I’m certain of that.” I kiss the bridge of her nose. There’s a light dusting of freckles on it, a sprinkle of stars, and I adore every one of them, even more so since she told me that, different from the ones all over her body, the freckles on her face only come out when she’s planetside, not when she’s under _Voyager’s_ artificial lights. Apparently, a few weeks of weak winter sunshine suffice, and I’d love to see what the summer sun would bring out, even if Kathryn’s also told me that she doesn’t like them much. I do, and I plan to go on doing so.

“Do you…” Kathryn clears her throat, makes a second attempt, and now she’s looking at me, grey-blue eyes clear and open. “Do you want to know anything?”

Her question gives me license to ask her about everyone I heard her mention, which turns into an account of _Voyager’s_ , well, voyage so far, and detours into Federation history, with a passing nod on Jim Kirk. I like how Kathryn talks about these things, all properly detached and matter-of-fact, for all that we’re both naked and she’s just stopped crying. I like the conversation’s course, too, as a matter of fact. I’m learning new things, about the people she calls family. I’m learning that she’s incredibly proud of everything _Voyager’s_ crew has achieved, both professionally and personally, and that she’s a very observant captain, as far as things reach a captain’s ears and eyes. 

From the number of Federation members we come to faster-than-light speed, and the diversity of the alien species _Voyager_ has contacted so far, and the diversity of her crew, which then leads me to questions about the differences in their psychological make-up, while the sun wanders over the bed and our naked bodies. Kathryn’s explanations of a Klingon’s impetuousness, even tempered with half a set of human chromosomes, amaze me, as do her accounts of an Ex-Borg’s (and that’s quite another detour) difficulties exploring her new situation, and of Vulcan stoicism.

“Oh, I remember that from the Wesley books”, I burst out when she mentions it. “But I found it so difficult to understand. Is it that they don’t have emotions at all, or do they suppress them? How does it work?”

“Oh, they do have emotions, and very deep and strong ones at that. They don’t suppress them, in the way a psychologist would use the term, I guess. It’s rather that they set them aside, with mental discipline. They rule their decisions, their lives, by logic. At least most of the times; I’ve seen Vulcans act as irrational as the next man, especially when the next man is a Talaxian. But don’t ever tell Tuvok I said that, he has a glare that can fry comets.”

“Oh, so you’re just channeling him when you glare at me, then?” It wins me a fine specimen of the item in question, this comment, even if I’m deliberately refraining from pointing out that it’s somewhat unlikely I ever would be in a position to tell Tuvok anything, but then again, all of this is just imaginary anyway, isn’t it? Idle speculation, as I said. “But exasperation would be an emotion, too, wouldn’t it?” I go on, continuing with the pretense.

“I think the message is more that he’s approaching the end of his infinite patience, and it takes a Vulcan mind to deal with such a paradox.” And she seems content to go along.

“I see. And he’s your friend, right?”

“Very much so, and I’m deeply grateful for his presence. He’s been my sounding board, and has kept me sane, more than once.” I can practically hear her mouth snap shut as she realizes how this could be interpreted, but I like what I hear.

“Good”, I nod, and kiss her shoulder for emphasis.

“Good?”

“Well, the fact that this is all purely speculative notwithstanding, you’ll have to understand one thing, Kathryn.” She smiles at my mock seriousness. “I could probably help your crew with psychological issues if they accepted me. I certainly wouldn’t refrain from offering comments on your command decisions if you let me, for all that I don’t know the first thing about the Delta Quadrant. I’m planning to blame my huge ego for that, and my tendency to be confidently expert on things I have no experience of whatsoever.” She’s laughing now, and I grin down at her before I go on, painting seriousness on my features again. “But other than that, the relationship between you and me-“, and I bend down to run my tongue all along the curve of her breast, “can’t be a professional one, surely you realize that. I’ll gladly be your crew’s counselor, but I certainly won’t be _your_ counselor, and you certainly won’t be my captain.”

“I won’t be your captain?” Her voice is low and gravelly and still holds a trace of her laughter. 

“Most certainly not. Very unprofessional, having sex with your counselor. Plus, I’m not cut out for chains of command.” And I figure a counselor would be a bit outside this kind of hierarchy somehow, anyway, by necessity, right? Anyway, “but don’t worry”, I go on, “I do understand the need for them, especially in _Voyager’s_ current situation. So I promise I won’t undermine your authority-” relief replaces the worry that has appeared in Kathryn’s eyes at my insistence, only to be replaced by exasperation hot enough to fry one or two small comets of her own at my next words, however, “Captain Coffee Bean.”

Our communication gets a lot less coherent, if not necessarily quieter, at that point.


	5. February 16th

Marie’s still badgering her about the cowboy hat. Unfortunately, it’s broad-brimmed enough to look good on Kathryn, so that’s one argument lost, but Kathryn holds out. It’s simply the most silly-looking thing she’s ever seen, and Marie can argue that Carnival is all about silliness as long as she wants to. Things have come to the point that you see more costumed people in the streets than people in normal attire, in fact, and it makes Kathryn think longingly of her uniform, securely in Marie’s closet. It wouldn’t draw a second look, Kathryn is sure of that, but she won’t risk it, nevertheless. But she’s adamant about the hat. It’s become a matter of pride.

“And I don’t see why we had to get up so early”, she sighs when they take a hurried breakfast. It’s not as though Kathryn shirks from early mornings. She doesn’t shirk from any morning that has coffee in it somewhere, but rising at six has become ingrained, second nature, the natural order of things after nearly seven years of continually doing so, and rising before five, with darkness firmly in place outside, seems… illogical, considering they’re doing this for fun. 

“We have to be there early. The place will be packed by eight, and cordoned off by nine. It always is. Trust me.”

Kathryn sighs, and Marie turns to her with a teasing smile. “You find it hard to trust me?”

“No.” The answer is instantaneous. The next words, not so much. “You cared for me when I was out with fever”, Kathryn explains, after finding this reason.

“Just as you did when I was banging my drunken head on porcelain”, Marie smiles. “I guess we have been intimate long before we ever had sex, right?” 

“I trusted you before that”, Kathryn says slowly. The thought has been turning in her head for a while now, as she’s tried to resolve her feelings towards Marie, and how they have changed. 

”Oh?” Marie’s serious, now, too. Her eyes are curious and intent and warm, their color that of rich dark chocolate, and how well that fits with the younger woman’s affection for the stuff. 

“Oh, you know”, Kathryn sighs. “I confirmed your guess that the pips were rank insignia, in that restaurant. To this day, I haven’t really understood why. I wondered what I was doing every time I told you something about myself, really, you know?”

“Maybe I emit trustworthiness. Has your tricorder picked up anything like that?” And now the eyes are teasing again, over the rims of Marie’s glasses, in their quietly relentless way. They remind Kathryn of Chakotay, somehow, even if his are darker. But their quality is the same, sometimes. Kathryn suddenly wishes Marie would meet him, or Tom with his penchant for twentieth-century things. She pushes that thought aside resolutely, however.

There are so many open questions, still, and yet, somehow, Kathryn is content to leave them that way, at least for today, for this morning. Despite her resistance on the matter, she’s intrigued to see Carnival for herself. At least, she tells herself, at least the Doctor, or Chakotay, won’t have any grounds to plague her about taking time off any longer.

The weather is brilliant, and brilliantly cold, too, when they step outside, one witch and one definitely hat-less pirate, in wide trousers that tuck into Kathryn’s boots, a ruffled blouse with several layers of t-shirts underneath for warmth, and a flamboyant waistcoat of Sarah’s with a plush parrot pinned to its left shoulder. Really, the zebra-striped cowboy hat would have been completely out of place. Definitely. 

Marie has organized a second bike, and after a hundred meters or so, Kathryn’s found her legs again, so to speak. “You have bikes in the twenty-fourth century, still, then?” Marie asks, trying to keep her witch’s dress, all black velvet and lace-covered burgundy inserts, from bunching around her legs. Burgundy suits her, Kathryn thinks, she’d look good in command red. Or sciences blue, befitting a counselor. The traitorous thought wakes a blush, and she fights it with a soft snort.

“Of course”, she says lightly, to distract both of them. “It’s still an efficient way to move, although the gears and chain are mostly non-contact by now. Less friction”, she explains at Marie’s baffled look.

“Ah. Yes. Wow. I can see where that would be a hit. Do you know how it works? We could make millions, Kathryn, millions!”

“Right.” Kathryn keeps her voice wry. She knows Marie is kidding her. Still, it jabs, this reminder that this is a currency-based economy, and that there isn’t a way for her to make money.

“Well, it’s either that or illicit work, isn’t it?” Marie has followed Kathryn’s unspoken train of thought, apparently. “Or you can hack into a database and forge some entries to make you a legal resident.”

“You’ve put some thought into this.” 

“You sound surprised.”

“The ‘what if’ game again?”

“Someone has to play it”, Marie shrugs. They swerve to the right, and Kathryn suddenly sees something that makes her throat constrict, and takes away all thoughts of money or illicit actions.

“What is it?” Marie stares at her, worry plain on her face. Kathryn has stopped her bike so abruptly she’s having trouble staying upright, and now she’s staring, shivering, openmouthed. 

“That… painting.” Three large, elaborate, colorful letters, quite beautiful in their way, but the message they’re shouting at Kathryn is painful and unavoidable.

“The graffiti over there?”

“Yes.” 

“You know someone named Kes?” 

“Yes.” 

“Someone nice?” Marie sounds anxious now, and Kathryn tries to find an answer that’s more than a ‘yes’ but less than half an hour of explaining.

“She was a friend.” _And I had to kill her_. Her knuckles are white around the handle bars, but Kathryn doesn’t even notice until one of Marie’s hands covers one of them, gentle and warm, and brings her back to the here and now. She tears her eyes away from the graffiti, meets brown ones full of sorrow.

“She’s no longer with you, then?” Apparently, Marie has picked up Kathryn’s use of the past tense.

“No, she’s… moved on. She… I…”, but Kathryn can’t go on, her throat is too tight, and a small, sad, understanding smile crosses Marie’s face and tells her she doesn’t have to. A measuring look follows it, and Kathryn pulls herself together, finds a small smile of her own, exhales slowly. Another door closed again.

Marie, eyes intently on Kathryn’s face, nods, once. “Well, come on then, Captain Parrot, let’s try to be there before they stop letting people in.” 

Kathryn nods, too, and they drive on.

~~~

When they come home again, Kathryn is astounded. No, more than that – completely blown away. And maybe a little tipsy. But she can’t be blamed for that, can she, when everyone was so intent to press the local beer on her, and Marie even encouraged her to accept the invitations. And no, it can’t have anything to do with seeing Kes’ face on every small, blond head they’ve encountered. She’s had fun, hadn’t she? Today’s gallivanting has been about women, which is why people call this Women’s Carnival, apparently, complete with cutting men’s ties off if they wore them, and cheers – well, shrieks of laughter, really – to every woman who managed to find one. And songs in Gibberish, swaying in time, and cheek-pecking, and beer. Marie, almost annoyingly sober, takes hold of both bikes and chains them together while Kathryn leans against the fence and wills her stomach to stop turning somersaults.

“That was amazing”, she tells Marie earnestly.

“So you’ve told me, twelve times already”, Marie chuckles. “We told you, remember?”

“And this goes on for a week? How do they do it?” Singing, dancing, drinking, kissing total strangers, and general merry-making, from dusk till dawn and long into the night, from what Marie says, even if they’ve left while there’s still some daylight in the sky, because Marie didn’t want Kathryn to bike in the dark. Probably a smart idea, too. 

“Practice, Kathryn, years and years of practice. Or they flee, like Ellie does.” Kathryn pouts a little, and couldn’t say whether it’s about fleeing, or Ellie, or the fact that she can’t possibly be this tired. It can’t be much later than seventeen hundred, can it? She gropes at her waistcoat’s lapel to take out Marie’s phone to look at its clock, but the pocket’s opening maddeningly eludes her.

Marie turns and notices, and somehow it’s incredibly sexy how assertively she takes Kathryn’s hands in one of hers, takes out the phone with the other, catching the lapel in her teeth to help with unzipping the pocket. Kathryn finds herself kissing a witch in plain daylight, well, as much as there’s left of it, and without the slightest hesitation, too. Well. It’s not as if they haven’t kissed before, in that Carnival crowd, but that’s been moderate, even chaste, compared to what they’re doing now.

“I knew you were into pirates”, she gasps when they break apart, and Marie grins dangerously and leads her to the apartment block’s entrance, never breaking their embrace. More kissing helps Kathryn ignore the strange sensations of the lift’s start and stop (and she’s never missed inertia dampeners more than she does right now), and when they’re at the apartment’s door, Marie doesn’t even break their kiss to unlock it, quite a feat in Kathryn’s eyes. 

“Look at us”, Kathryn scolds whimsically when they stumble inside, “groping like teenagers. Miss Vey, you’re a bad influence.”

“Says Captain Parrot.” And the plush bird, codenamed Neelix since mid-morning, gets a kiss, too, until Kathryn grabs Marie’s jaw quite determinedly to bring their lips into contact again.

“What’s the plan for tonight, then?” Kathryn asks when they break apart, eyes wicked.

“Have sex, have dinner, sleep, rise, go out and party, repeat.” 

“You’re not serious?”

“I’m always serious about dinner. You know that.”

“I do”, Kathryn laughs, her arms around Marie’s neck as they dance a slow dance through the living room. “So what’s for dinner, witch or parrot?”

“We couldn’t do that to Neelix.”

“Witch dinner, then.” 

“Definitely.”

“Goddamn buttons.” They took ages to close this morning, and they’re taking even longer to pry open again right now. Marie is taking full advantage of the fact that Kathryn’s mind is occupied with buttons and holes, and has her hands inside Kathryn’s blouse before Kathryn knows it. They’re pulling her too close to work on the buttons, and she tells Marie so in no uncertain terms, only to be muffled by a mouth on hers. 

Marie tastes of beer and lemonade and jam-filled donuts, her tongue darting and eager on Kathryn’s lips, her neck, her mouth, the soft spot behind her ear, her neck again. Kathryn finds herself pressed to the wall and moans softly. Good God, but she’s strong, Marie is. A thigh comes up between Kathryn’s, and she gasps, grinding her crotch until she feels one of her heels leave the ground. An arm around her waist, shoulders pressing her into the wall, keep her from sliding, and she savors how she has to rely on someone else for staying straight, just for the sake of novelty if nothing else. Her head turns circles still, from this afternoon’s intake of the local beer, but they’re lazy circles, lazy and languid and oh that kiss right _there_ feels so good. 

Waistcoat and blouse bunch around her shoulders, a little uncomfortably, but she wouldn’t move to change that for the world, because Marie’s mouth is hot on her breasts, alternating flicks and licks and deep sucking kisses until her nipples threaten to burst. Her breath hitches in her throat when she feels Marie’s free arm, the one that isn’t warm skin and strong muscle holding her up around her naked waist, snake down between her legs, make short work of button and zip and slip inwards inexorably. She buries her fingers in Marie’s hair, grasps, brings her head up to kiss her, moans disappointedly when lips leave hers, huffs when they connect fiercely with the skin over her taut trapezius. She’ll have a mark there – no dermal regenerator in this century, she thinks a little disconnectedly, then gasps when Marie nips the soft flesh and hand’s breath lower on her chest. Another mark. “Yes”, she hisses sharply. 

Then a finger enters her, tight as she is in this position, and the angle surely must be impossible to maintain for long, another disconnected thought laments, but it doesn’t have to last long, does it, seeing as she’s already so close. A thumb running over her clit tears a guttural grunt from her throat and she clenches down hard, more, oh, she needs – a second finger, however Marie will manage it, and then she feels a hand sneaking down the small of her back, cupping and squeezing her ass cheek, slipping between, holding, pressing, not entering, but-

“God”, she chokes. Shudders. Grinds down on the thumb fingering her clit, shudders again, and still a finger presses down (up? on what?), another flexes against her g-spot, and she clenches around it with a groan in her throat because it still isn’t enough – her arms around Marie’s neck tighten when the younger woman pushes her upwards with shoulders and chest, and hands firmly between Kathryn’s legs from the front and from behind, until Kathryn’s feet are off the ground completely and she feels even more _disconnected_ than before. In a good way, though. She hooks a leg around Marie’s waist, and now the angle is different, a little more space and- 

“Yes”, she hisses again, as another finger joins the first, filling the space their change of position has opened up, and when Marie relaxes a little, Kathryn’s body slides down until she’s riding, quite literally, on Marie’s thigh and fingers, and again, this changes available space and directions and-

“…oh…” Marie’s fingers are moving inside her, not moving in and out – they can’t, not like this – but fluttering, stroking, pushing, flexing and flicking until it seems they’re touching her everywhere, and then her thumb reconnects with Kathryn’s clit, and that connects with the everywhere, and everywhere connects with a place deep inside until something gives, and Kathryn clings to Marie with leg and arms, holding on for dear life as orgasm takes her, and still those fingers are relentless, not satisfied until they coax another gasp from Kathryn’s throat. 

She barely feels Marie’s arms slip down to hoist her up, but her legs move on their own, snaking around the younger woman’s waist until she’s firmly ensconced on Marie’s hips and being carried towards the bed, wetness pressing into her panties. On their way to the horizontal, they both tear off their clothes and Kathryn discovers that a witch’s dress doesn’t have to be unbuttoned at all but can be slipped over shoulders and head in one single movement. It makes her laugh, giddily, breathlessly, and then Marie is back above her, breasts jutting proudly in a way Kathryn’s larger ones never could – admittedly, the younger woman’s pectorals, strong from rowing, help, but so does the difference in size and weight and, _face it, Kathryn,_ age – and then Kathryn’s eyes are drawn to the wetness glistening between Marie’s legs, the mesmerizing, enticing, tantalizing wetness. 

Kathryn raises her shoulders from the bed and pulls Marie’s hips towards her with two impatient hands – who said Marie was the only one with muscle? Knees to the left and right of Kathryn’s shoulders, the younger woman leans against the headboard and moans when Kathryn’s mouth connects with her mons; flails one hand, finds a pillow, stuffs it behind Kathryn’s shoulders and is rewarded with a tongue sneaking inside her folds.

This isn’t new, as such – Kathryn has tasted Marie before. But before that, she’s never kissed another woman, and certainly not _there_. Oh, yes, Kathryn had tasted herself, which woman hadn’t, in one way or another, but to have another woman’s arousal fill her nostrils with that tangy aroma, coat her face and tongue with that slick and supple taste – it’s more than kinky, more than hot. Marie’s labia are clean-shaven, but she does have a triangle of delightful black curls above them, much more delicate than Kathryn would have suspected pubic hair could be – she’d decided, ages ago, to use a follicle inhibitor once a week, resulting in, well, no pubic hair at all, smooth and silky and that’s the way she likes it, so she hardly remembers how it feels, let alone another woman’s. But that’s technology that doesn’t exist here, either, and, lapping away at salty folds, she’s glad that Marie takes time and care to shave every morning, and delights in the curls that Marie leaves untouched. 

A hoarse sound from above when Kathryn’s tongue reaches Marie’s clit – Marie’s much more vocal than Kathryn, whereas Kathryn is quite certain she could never, ever utter such sounds so, well, wantonly, herself. She’s lived in close quarters for so long, next to people she’s seeing every day, that to let go like this is unthinkable – soundproofing is nowhere near good enough in academy dorms, let alone on starships, so keeping quiet is second nature to her. The soundproofing isn’t exactly stellar here either, overheard nocturnal next-door trysts can easily attest to that, but Marie doesn’t seem to give a damn, and just lets fly with whatever runs through her mind, or throat, at any given moment, and part of Kathryn is immensely turned by Marie’s words (like now) or incoherent sounds (towards the end). To tell the truth, Kathryn’s in a covert contest with herself to have Marie swear in German before she gets incoherent, and tonight seems a good night for that.

“God, yes”, Marie gasps when Kathryn’s tongue enters her, canting her hips forwards for better access. Kathryn runs her fingernails up the insides of Marie’s thighs, teasingly turning away again before she reaches any truly erogenous zones, enjoying how Marie squirms, grinds down to catch those fingers, groans when they elude her. But lowering her hips has opened her up, and her eyes slam open when two of Kathryn’s fingers slam into her, without warning, up as far as they can go, and a hoarse cry of “yes” hits the walls – oh, she’s wet enough, open enough that Kathryn could give her more than two fingers, slender as they are anyway, and that’s exactly what she does.

Marie’s hands scrabble along the headboard, hungry sounds in the back of her throat at having three, then four fingers fill her, stretch her, knuckles grinding into her labia. Kathryn knows, by now, how to move, to tease, to stoke the fire but contain the flames – after a few deep strokes she withdraws her fingers to disappointed groans from above, and flicks her thumb, then her tongue over Marie’s clit. Alternating between the two forms of ministrations, she doesn’t stop until Marie’s thighs, rower’s muscle and all, quiver and fail to hold her up any longer, and a fervent “bitte” has fallen, repeatedly, from the younger woman’s lips.

A quick wriggle, and Kathryn’s out from under Marie, and the younger woman collapses onto the mattress, butt high, one hand of Kathryn’s pinned beneath her chest, where it quickly tends to a marble-hard nipple. Kathryn, off to one side, slips her free hand between Marie’s legs, holding it still for a breath to pool the wetness there, wetness Marie produces as copiously as she produces sound. Urgent, pleading keening is coming from the younger woman now, interspersed with syllables that might be German, or might not, but Kathryn’s too concentrated on the taste of the cool, smooth skin of Marie’s back and side, the undulating movements of Marie’s hips trying to capture her fingers again, and the incomparable view that these movements create right in front of her eyes, to even try telling them apart. 

With a quick, assertive thrust she fills Marie again, timing her motion with one of Marie’s for maximum impact, and is rewarded with a long, drawn-out shudder and moan, as Marie slowly, languorously rocks back and forth, basically fucking herself on a hand that’s stationary, for now. Four fingers fill Marie indeed quite nicely, and when Kathryn starts to bury them to the knuckles with every backwards motion of Marie’s hips, their concerted movements (and the corresponding sounds from Marie’s throat) gain speed until they turn to something close to frenzy. In a small, stealthy movement, Kathryn’s thumb steals some moisture from her palm and flicks upwards and in, pressing into Marie’s perineum in a move that Kathryn remembers from not so long ago, and good God, but she hasn’t reckoned with this kind of reaction, now. 

Marie practically howls, sliding back on her haunches in an attempt to spear herself onto Kathryn’s hand. The movement frees Kathryn’s other hand, and it stops fondling breasts and starts fondling another hardened nub, resulting in another howl. Marie starts bucking so hard that Kathryn would start to fear for the bed if she didn’t know it’s able to withstand this, from earlier attempts. She knows, too, that she can keep Marie on this threshold for a small eternity, and that’s exactly what she intends to do, now, never letting up, never letting go, until shouts turn to labored gasps, to keening whimpers, to low urgent animal noises that aren’t language in any form but still manage to convey saturation quite eloquently. 

Then long limbs flop to the mattress, shorter limbs wrap themselves around them, and Kathryn draws one of the blankets over both of them with what strength she has left, and they doze off, a tangle of two bodies satiated, supple, and slick with much more than sweat.


	6. February 18th

I hadn’t been certain Kathryn would like Carnival, but I surely hadn’t thought she’d be such a lightweight for alcohol. She tried to explain that they usually drank a sort of alcohol in her universe whose effects you could just shake off if you felt like it, but somehow I had a hard time believing it until I noticed how quickly she got buzzed both Thursday and yesterday, and on nothing but beer, too. I guess that graffiti from Thursday morning was to blame, at least for Thursday’s spree – she hasn’t mentioned it since, though, nor the friend it reminded her of. So I stayed sober both days to bring her home safely; it’s not as if I can’t have fun sober, right? And Kathryn Janeway, buzzed, loses some inhibitions that Kathryn Janeway, sober, holds on to as if her life depended on it, and I filed them away quite carefully.

She’s been a bit subdued all day today, and I don’t know if she’s simply hung over or if it’s something else, or maybe a mixture of things. Lunch is a snack affair of salad and bread, and her eyes are as far away as her thoughts, staring out of the window. I’m quite certain she’s not seeing our costumes, hung out there to air out a little for tomorrow. 

“Penny?” I try her method. Her eyes snap to me and she smiles, a thin, sad little thing, not much of a reassurance that she’s alright.

“Just wondering, you know. I’ve been here for three and a half weeks, and I don’t seem to be anywhere near getting back, somehow.”

“And you’re wondering if there’s anything you haven’t thought of.” Part of me thinks it strange that I’m not exasperated by how she keeps coming back to this. It is the most important thing to her, the bigger part of me answers, of course she does. How would I feel, so far away from home?

She nods mutely. Her jaws work, and she passes the ubiquitous coffee mug from hand to hand, slowly turning it around and around in the process. 

“Maybe it is this role thing, you know. Maybe Q wanted to reawaken my ability to forget that I’m a captain from time to time. Maybe he wanted me to find someone to …”, her eyes meet mine suddenly, then she blushes and looks quickly away. I hide my smile behind my equally ever-present cup of tea, hibiscus this time. “But I don’t see how I can!” Her voice doesn’t rise on her last words. Rather, it gets harsher, more gravelly than ever. She’s hard on herself, always pushing, always expecting, even demanding. I don’t think she pushes anyone this much. I’m sure she does, push other people I mean, but not this much. 

“Tell me”, I say lightly, “did you have relationships at all in the last almost-seven years?” 

Her head snaps up again. Caught her by surprise, have I? Her eyes narrow in a very familiar way as she ponders how to answer this.

“Well, yes. In a way.”

“In a way? What way?” She sighs at my pushing, but relents, and tells me about an alien inspector she played, and how she won, and lost, more than she bargained for; about a holographic bartender she fell for, and how she changed his programming to be more to her liking, and how she left him when she began to be spooked by the fact that he wasn’t as real as her feelings for him were becoming. And she tells me about Jaffen, the man she met and fell in love with ‘while brainwashed’, an expression she almost barks out. She’s not over that one yet, that’s plain to see. Men, all of them, I note, as was her fiancé. Ah well. But I don’t think I’m a phase, or an experiment. She’s far too serious for that. And who cares why she’s looking at me for love, now, if that’s what she’s doing at all? 

“There’s a common denominator, isn’t there?” I ask her in a carefully gauged tone of voice.

“They didn’t work out?”

“Oh come on, Kathryn, that one’s too obvious. No – I’m talking about the safety catch here.”

“Safety catch?” she frowns. My turn to sigh.

“You kept apart. There was always a bit of you that didn’t rush in, that stayed behind and advocated rationality, reason, caution. He’s an alien; who knows what he’s up to. He’s a hologram; I can’t get involved with him. The only time you threw that overboard was when you weren’t yourself.” I sigh again. “I guess that bit of you is scared. Can’t blame it, either; love hurts like hell sometimes, especially when you lose it.” 

Again, her jaws clench, her knuckles whiten around the coffee cup, and I can see how she fights to keep her emotions from showing more obviously. Then I remember, and my eyes soften.

“‘I lost my father and the man I loved…’ That why you’re scared?” She opens her mouth as if to protest. Closes it again. Her eyes, stormy at first, turn almost black now, with pain and sorrow and guilt. She hides behind her cup for a long moment, drains it in three long, drawn-out sips. Sets it down and meets my eyes. The curtain I was waiting for hasn’t dropped, doesn’t drop now. Three weeks and three days. Hell Kathryn, do you realize what you’re doing? How can you have so much faith in my chivalry? And… and can you hear my silent vow to repay your trust in kind?

“Yes.” It’s a small sound for so great an acknowledgement. She doesn’t modify it, either, with an ‘I guess’ or a ‘maybe’. Fearless. God, how I love her, and to hell with my own safety catch. Then again, while I have known loss, I haven’t known a loss like hers. 

“I guess you won’t be able to throw caution to the wind with me either, will you? I mean, what are our chances, right?”

She sighs again, rises, walks to stand in front of the window. “I can’t go from day to day, Marie.”

“I know.” I move in behind her. She could lean against me if she wished to do so, but I won’t initiate contact if she doesn’t. Her shoulders do relax a bit, but she stays where she is. Apart. My heart beats towards her, heavily, slowly, full of sorrow. “In the end, you always lose people. But is not losing someone better than not having anyone? Is it worth it?”

“You’re dangerous, Marie.” Her voice is choked, as choked as I feel, but I can walk away from it better – these are not my fears.

“Love’s dangerous. I’m only her advocate.”

“Are you now?” She readily takes that opportunity for lightness; there’s even a smile in her voice.

“If the devil can have one, well, so can love, right? Impetuous advocate of reckless abandon to love’s wiles and ways, that’s me. Looks good on my calling card, too.” If I’m playing this a little too heavily, I’ll admit to it freely. Still, hearing her snort of laughter does me a world of good. Better than hearing her call me dangerous, anyway. And she does lean into me, now, giving me license to wrap my arms around her. 

A big, heaving breath. “Those massages worth it?”

“Definitely.” I kiss her temple, softly, feeling that I’ve been given permission by her change of topic. No, massages at the Neptunbad surely don’t come cheap, not when I’m paying for the two of us, but I’ve seen her roll her shoulders, hell, I’ve heard them crackle, and as I’ve told her, the place is worth every penny. Relaxation is a good idea, in any case, and if she decides to come back to talking about love and loss, that’s fine, and if she doesn’t, it’ll be fine as well.

* * *

When they step from the underground train an hour later, Kathryn still feels more shaken than she’d care to admit. Their conversation has been on innocent, easy topics ever after she inquired about those massages, topics like would she need a bathing suit (no) or a towel (yes), would they go by bike (certainly not), would they meet Anna and Ellen on the way or at the spa (the latter). And still the words ‘safety catch’ echo in her head. Her romances, if that’s what they’d been, can’t be summed up so cavalierly, can they? So what if there is a part of her that watches? So what if that part has erred on the side of caution ever since she found herself in the Delta Quadrant? 

Kathryn gamely ignores the little voice that tries to remind her of years of caution before that, of daredevil ways to try and see if she could still feel something before those years, and of a world of numbness before even that. Yes, Phoebe had, with her bucket of iced water and bull-headed determination, drawn her sister out of the bleakest part of her mourning, and yes, mandatory counseling had alerted Kathryn to the fact that it had been far more than that. 

Clinical depression. She’d read every available medical text on it after the diagnosis, every psychological essay and abstract she could get her hands on, every treatment proposal in Starfleet’s Medical Manual until she could pinpoint with excruciating accuracy just what any given counselor had been trying to talk round her. 

It hadn’t helped. 

She’d been accurate enough to recognize the phases and emotions she’d been going through, the numbness, the crying spells, the aggressiveness both towards others and herself, the self-inflicted isolation and punishments. Sometimes, she suspects even now that what she shrugs of as bad habits and quirks might be lingering symptoms still, like her insomnia and the latent self-neglect the Doctor bemoans so frequently. Hell, when B’Elanna had that episode a couple of years ago, it had taken all Kathryn’s self-control to talk to her levelly, empathically, friendly – and then she’d dropped the issue, like the hot potato it had been in her hands, into Chakotay’s lap. Where it belonged, certainly, as part of his duties as first officer, and as B’Elanna’s friend. Still, she’d been glad to be rid of the mirror the Chief Engineer’s behavior had held up to the captain’s face. Yet another door.

And now there is a counselor – well, social worker, but it translates to the same thing, doesn’t it – right at her side, and apparently determined to knock, gently and relentlessly, on every on of those doors that she can find. Granted, Marie does back off afterwards if Kathryn signals she wants her to, but even so, this has been a rollercoaster of emotions, and that final question of Marie’s burns in her ears still – is it worth it? 

And now she’s about to strip naked. Going into a sauna _au naturel_ seemed like a good idea, seeing as she didn’t have a bathing suit, but right now, Kathryn desperately wishes for her uniform and pips, something she hasn’t done in days, if not weeks. As it is, the most familiar thing to cling to is indeed Marie, and as though the younger woman senses it, she’s right at Kathryn’s side with the precise combination of solicitousness and exuberance to get Kathryn’s eyes rolling with her antics. Somehow, exasperation is refuge right now, comforting and familiar, and even if Kathryn’s tongue is sharper tonight, Marie bears it with a shrug and a grin. 

When they meet Ellen in front of the spa, she informs them that Anna can’t make it; bad case of sick child and overtaxed husband. Ellen does wave Anna’s voucher about, though, and that way, Kathryn doesn’t have to feel bad about draining Marie’s purse on top of things. The spa is an incredibly classy affair, Art Déco as only the Old World can manage, with green marble and white plaster and dark wood, and an Asian touch to lighten things up. 

People are as naked as at a Betazoid wedding, and after a few hesitant moments, Kathryn joins them. The three of them turn many an eye, in fact: slender, narrow-shouldered Ellen whose form barely seems able to support her breasts (it hardly feels right that they have the same bra size, Kathryn thinks, but they do, as they’ve just discovered), with her long dark hair and light grey eyes, and a mouth as full and feminine as her hips. Kathryn, with narrow hips and narrow waist, thanks to Velocity and crazy eating habits, and auburn hair springing into stubborn curls in the humidity, clutching her towel closer to her than her two companions do. And Marie, brown curls more pronounced, too, and for the same reason, shoulders as wide as her hips are (a child-bearing pelvis, she’s called this a few days ago, to her own eye-rolling laughter, and Kathryn had wondered whether that amusement stemmed from the fact itself or from the idea of having children), stockiness and curves belying the muscle underneath if it weren’t for that set of perky breasts, their rosy nipples puckering as Kathryn watches. Raising her eyes, Kathryn notices that Marie has seen her gaze, and the resulting grin wakes a blush with its sauciness. 

“I never knew your blush started at your breasts”, the younger woman squeals delightedly, then dances a few steps away when Kathryn tries to swat her. Ellen rolls her eyes with an amiable grin of her own, and somehow this makes Kathryn relax more than anything else. Really, those two are close, but the quality of Marie’s teasing, and of her gaze, is completely different when it’s Kathryn in her sights, rather than Ellen. With Ellen, their shared nakedness is companionship, familiar, comfortable. Seeing Kathryn naked, Marie’s eyes gain a gleam, a reminder of flames, a regret at banking them for the sake of public decency, and a promise of ‘later’. 

The place is filled close to capacity, with people both escaping and recovering from Carnival. They manage to find an empty sauna though, and even though apparently it’s frowned upon to talk, they don’t disturb anyone, being on their own as they are. 

“So Kathryn”, Ellen asks after settling down on a middle bench, “how do you like it so far?”

“What do you mean, Ellen – Cologne? The Carnival?” 

“Me?” Marie interjects, to two snorts.

“Well, everything, really.” Ellen sort of clarifies.

“I loved seeing the Cathedral. Those bells – good God. And Carnival seems great fun, even though I find it hard to believe that some people party the whole week away.”

“You know, Marie has this theory that nine months later, birth rates rise significantly.”

“She might be right.”

“You wouldn’t believe how many men made moves on us”, Marie pipes in again. 

“Women, too”, and somehow that still seems strange to Kathryn, even if Marie has explained that Cologne’s ‘gay scene’ is one of the largest and most active in Germany, and what a strange conversation _that_ has been, too.

“And sometimes people that we weren’t really sure about”, Marie completes the list, eliciting another laugh from Ellen. 

“I bet they did. Look at you – you’re looking great together.”

“Yeah, sure”, Marie scoffs. For all her cockiness, she doesn’t seem to like her body, Kathryn has noticed; too heavy, too large, a view that Kathryn doesn’t share. Both of them have a soft swell around the navel, but that’s not being heavy, that’s being a woman, at least from Kathryn’s point of view. Ellen has it, too, a quick glance confirms. 

”You do, too”, Ellen insists. “You’re tall and strong, a good protector-“

“I don’t want a protector. I don’t need a protector”, Kathryn quickly interrupts her. 

“-which Kathryn certainly neither wants nor needs”, Ellen goes on smoothly, hardly missing a beat. “But I bet your arm fits exactly across her shoulders, doesn’t it? I bet the two of you would be just right for dancing, too.”

“I guess we are, at that”, Marie comments, catching Kathryn’s eyes with a smile. They’re both thinking of the same thing, Kathryn’s sure.

“Although I’m not certain who’d lead”, Ellen adds with a sly grin.

Kathryn opens her mouth at the same time that Marie does, and that alone makes Ellen’s grin turn positively wicked. Then the two of them turn their heads simultaneously to look at each other, and each raises a hand in a mirroring gesture of ‘you first’, and Ellen bursts into laughter. 

“Honestly, you two…” She gazes up to Kathryn and points a semi-serious finger. “Don’t go away. You’re too good.” 

Kathryn can feel the lightness drain away even though she tries to keep a hold on it. But that rollercoaster is starting again, and she drops her gaze and swallows mutely. Part of her yearns to take Ellen’s words as an order, to not go away, to stay in this place, this life she’s so easily slipped into, next to this woman who’s made this such an easy, easy thing to do. And yet she can’t help but think of her crew, her ship, her mission to get them home. How can she stay on Earth when they’re stranded? When it’s not even her Earth? 

She doesn’t notice Marie’s eyes on her until the younger woman rises, suddenly, and silently leaves. She’s about to get up and follow her when she feels Ellen’s hand on her wrist.

“Don’t.” The word is dark, and as assertive as Kathryn’s never heard from Ellen. Kathryn opens her mouth to reply, but no words come. “I just hope you’re not playing her, you know”, Ellen goes on.

“I…”

“Do you have any idea how much she’s hurting?” It’s not an accusation; Ellen’s voice is not reproachful at all. It’s much worse – sympathy pain, and unexpected, fierce protectiveness, and how is Kathryn supposed to deal with that?

“She-“ yes, Kathryn wants to shout, yes, she’s told me, and she’s told me she expected this, but is that explanation, or excuse?

“This is crazy, you know.”

“Yes”, at least they agree on that. “I… Ellen, I… don’t know what to say. I never…” again, words fail her.

“…intended this? Oh I know that one”, Ellen sighs, still without reproach. “We never do, do we. I take it you can’t stay?”

“No”, Kathryn whispers, tonelessly. The pain in that word seems to mollify Ellen a little, and for once Kathryn’s glad that she hasn’t managed to hide it.

“How long then?”

“I don’t know. It’s not… really in my hands.”

“Can’t she come with you when you leave, then?” There’s a low hum as the thermostat starts to re-heat the sauna, and it saves Kathryn from answering immediately.

“It’s not that easy”, she says, finally.

“It never is”, Ellen sighs. Then she suddenly sits up straight. “Don’t tell me- nah, she wouldn’t. Would she? God, I hope she…” her voice trails away, then she looks up at Kathryn, eyes wide and dubious. “She isn’t not coming because of me, is she? Don't tell me she wants to stay with me, out of some sense of out-of-place gallantry or something?”

Now that’s something Kathryn hasn’t even considered, but, yes, it would fit, wouldn’t it? Good heavens, what a tangle. She swallows, feeling she owes the truth, to the memory of ‘I trust her with everything I have, everything I am, and that is how important she is to me’. 

“I don’t know, to tell you the truth”, she replies. “She hasn’t… there are so many reasons. It might be one, I’m not sure.” 

Ellen sighs, then, exasperated with Marie, Kathryn hopes. Then her eyes return to Kathryn’s face. “You okay with that?” she asks, true curiosity in her voice.

“With the two of you being so close?” Kathryn hedges, finding an answer to that in another memory, one of a soft voice on her neck. “Yes.”

“Thank. God.” Ellen rolls her eyes heavenwards. “Her last girlfriend – well, I call her girlfriend; it was more of an affair, really, barely lasted two months – anyway, she didn’t, and I don’t ever want to go through something like that again.”

“Oh?” Suddenly Kathryn realizes – she doesn’t know anything about Marie’s past, does she? Not really.

“I felt guilty, she felt guilty, heavy awkwardness all around, basically. I don’t know whether Marie ended it just because of that; there might have been other reasons, too. And then I felt guilty again, because it was over; because I felt like I’d been standing in the way of her happiness.” Ellen sighs. “Ah well. I guess you’re confident enough not to be jealous of me, anyway.”

The door opens and Marie comes back in, beads of water on her skin, rescuing Kathryn from having to answer.

“I’m sorry for running out like that”, she says, slipping back onto her bench. It’s Ellen who answers. 

“Oh, don’t be. We had ourselves a nice little chat, which we couldn’t have had with you around. You know, girl to gi-“ Marie swats her with the bunched towel still in her hand, and then more guests come in, and talk stops for the rest of the session.

* * *

“You know”, I sigh languidly, stretched out on the massage table, “I could get used to this.” The three massage therapists have gone, and I’m so mellow I can barely be bothered to breathe, let alone get up. 

“Uh-huh”, Ellie comments, and Kathryn chimes in with a grunt that I guess indicates assent. 

“So what _did_ you talk about, back then?” I feel I’ve contained my curiosity for long enough. This time, Kathryn’s grunt is more of a groan, but Ellie answers nevertheless.

“Why, you, of course. I told Kathryn here I’d rip her apart if she hurt you, and she promised not to. Then we speculated about why you don’t simply go with her when she leaves, and finally we talked about your bygones.”

“You what?” Still I can’t be bothered to raise myself, but I raise my voice at least. A little. The room is private, but still. 

“Don’t worry, Kathryn isn’t jealous.”

“I _am_ here, you know”, a gravelly voice intones with just a hint of peevishness.

“No, I mean – you talked about why I don’t go with h- you?” God, what wouldn’t I give to have been witness to that.

“Well, I wondered if you were nobly staying behind to help me in my bereavement, you know. I’d hate that.” Oh, Ellie’s tone is light, but the words are serious, and I turn my head around to look at her, on the table to my right. Her eyes meet mine calmly, a question inside them. I swallow, then prop myself up to see if Kathryn’s eyes are open, too, and telling me something over Ellie’s back. They are, and do. Their question burns more strongly, in fact, so strongly I can see it even without my glasses. The truth, then, and no flinching.

“Leelee-”, but she interrupts me before I can get truly started.

“You said, once, that you’d come along if I moved to another city. That scared me, you know. That you would…”

“I know.” I sigh. “I know. And I still would, I guess.” I sit up and pull up my knee, wrapping my towel and my arm around it. Meet Kathryn’s eyes. “You’re important to me. Both of you. I… honestly, I don’t know how I’d react if I had to choose between the two of you.” Ellie flinches, and it makes me look at her. Kathryn, too.

“How… why? Marie, you…” Ellie’s eyes are as dark as I’ve never seen them, and full of tears, too. 

“Well I… God”, I breathe, casting an imploring glance heavenwards before catching Kathryn’s eyes. “Kathryn, I’d be the happiest woman in the galaxy if I could just be with you, just like that. Without any of these… complications. And…” I swallow. My eyes are a little wet, too, I guess. “Leelee, I… we’re so close, and have been for so long – I don’t know how I could ever give that up. Last time…” she chuckles, and I cock my head incredulously.

“We did talk about that”, she elaborates. “About how jealous she was.”

“Yes, and it was an easy choice then. Now, not so easy. Not easy at all.” 

Kathryn’s been awfully quiet during the exchange, and I do wish for my glasses now, to see what’s in her eyes. She reads it in my expression, I guess, because she gets up, suddenly, and comes over to sit next to me, legs dangling not so captain-like, small hands gripping the table right and left of them, white-knuckled. When she speaks, her voice is so soft that it jerks Ellie’s head around – she hasn’t heard this voice before.

“Marie – I won’t make you choose. We both know that’s it’s not really a choice, anyway, right?”

I take a deep breath, and exhale slowly, nostrils flaring, eyes unseeing. Meet Ellie’s eyes, wet still, meet Kathryn’s, dry, but full of emotion. It is impossible, after all, to come with her, isn’t it? Then again, there’s an omnipotent being involved, and what’s impossible to someone who’s all-powerful? I slowly start to shake my head, and Kathryn’s eyes drain, fill with disbelief instead. “I refuse that.” My chin juts out, defiant and stubborn. What is it I’ve read? “Things are only impossible until they’re not.” Come to think of it, hasn’t it been in one of the Wesley books?

“ _You’re_ impossible”, Kathryn sighs, with one of her half-smiles. 

“Well, I’m not. I’m right here. And as long as you’re here, things are fine. And if one day you’re not… well. I’ll think about it then.”

“Day to day?”

I nod, chin out still. Ellie reaches out and touches my arm, and Kathryn sits at my side, not touching, but close enough to feel her body’s warmth. This, now – why can’t this moment last forever?


	7. February 20th

She’s gone. 

I sit at my table and stare unseeingly ahead, mind numb, turning my smartphone around and around in my hands. I lost her in the Carnival crowd, tried to reach her by phone for over an hour, went home in the hope I’d find her here, found my smartphone on the table instead, and rushed over to my cupboard, to find empty spaces where her uniform and gadgets had been. 

She’s gone. 

We had so much fun, yesterday and today, at the two parades, the one of schools and clubs and societies on Sunday, a bright, cheerful, happy affair, much prouder and more professional than the list of participants would suggest, and the ‘official’ one today, the epitome of Carnival, with over a million spectators. And somehow, in that cheering, jostling, mad crowd, I lost her, and now Edith Piaf’s song runs an endless loop in my head. _Entraînée par la foule qui s’élance et qui danse une folle farandole je suis emportée au loin, et je crispe mes poings, maudissant la foule qui me vole l’homme qu’elle m’avait donné et que je n’ai jamais retrouvé_ – dragged by the crowd that rushes and dances a mad farandole, I am swept away and clench my fists, cursing the crowd that stole the man it had given me, the man I never found again. 

Fits, doesn’t it? Well. Nearly. I huff a bitter laugh.

She’s gone.

She’s gone, as well I knew she would. I hadn’t thought it would happen this way, is all. Anti-climactic, isn’t it. I’d hoped that I’d be there to say goodbye, at least. And yes, somehow, I’d also hoped, in my heart of hearts, that she, I, we’d find a way for me to come. I can only hope that her being gone means our, my suspicion has been true and she’s convinced Q that she’s found a way out from behind the mask that’s slowly suffocating her. At least this hope is familiar, the social worker’s curse: You try to help, but ultimately, you don’t know whether you did, because most of the times you don’t see your clients again afterwards. At least in my line of work you don’t.

She’s gone. 

She’s gone, and I hurt, and still I wouldn’t change a single thing, wouldn’t make a single decision differently, wouldn’t hold back a single fiber of my heart. I had known it would hurt like this. Hell, I’d expected it to. I only hope – but no, I can’t hope she doesn’t hurt like this. Because if she doesn’t, wouldn’t it imply that this meant less to her than it did to me? But she’d had her safety catch still on, hadn’t she, hadn’t given herself over into this completely? Whereas I’d been reckless, hell, yes, reckless as I ever was. A fool rushing in. But she’s a captain, not a fool, after all, and captains can’t afford to be reckless. 

She’s gone. 

She’s gone, after exactly four weeks; four blessed weeks of living and head-butting with the most stubborn, exasperating, fierce, bright and amazing woman I’ve ever met. Four weeks of being head over heels in love, and I’ve never even told her. 

I try to take heart from the fact that the picture I took, the one I scribbled that note on exactly a week ago, is gone as well. Even if Q hasn’t answered to my calls, or rather my pleas, yet – if he sent this picture with her, he’s more of a romantic that she gives him credit for, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song mentioned in this chapter is "La Foule", by Edith Piaf.


End file.
